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5 

55 


A  LITTLE  WORLD 

A  Series  of  College  Plays  for  Girls 


By 

ALICE  GERSTENBERG 


CHICAGO 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Copyright  1908,  by 
\LICE  GERSTENBERG 


Aris 


TO 

MY  MOTHER  AND  FATHER 

A  WHO  SHARE  WITH  ME  MY  DELIGHT  IN  COLLEGE  LIFE 


b 


THIS  BOOK  OF  PLAYLETS  IS 
LOVINGLY  DEDICATED. 


THTTATPTT     ATDmc? 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
The  Class  President "^ 

Two  Acts. 

Twelve  Characters,    Girls. 

Time  of  Performance,   45  minutes. 

Captain  Joe 

Two  Acts. 

Eleven  Characters,  Girls. 

Time  of  Performance,  45  minutes. 

Betty's   Degree ^^ 

Two  Acts. 

Nine  Characters,    Girls. 

Time  of  Performance,    45  minutes. 

The  Class  Play ^^^ 

Two  Acts  and  Epilogue. 
Eleven  Characters,    Girls. 

Time  of  Performance,   1  hour,  30  minutes. 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT 


CAST    OF  CHARACTERS. 

First  produced  at  the  Anna  Morgan  Studios,  Fine 
Arts  Building,  Chicago,  March  12,  1908,  with  the  fol- 
lowing cast: 

Louise    Moore,  class  president. .  Miss  Alice  Gerstenberg 

Pat  Dickenson,  her  room-mate 

Miss  Prudence  Jackson 

Bert  Smith,         i     Pat's     i     Miss  Marguerite  Riner 
Sidney  Dale,       >        ,    .     ■{  Miss  Esther  Kelly 


ON,     J 


Chip  Plymton,    J    <^oterie.  |    Migg  Salina  Livingston 
Mary,  the  mail  mistress Miss  Shirley  Waters 

Florence  Goodrich, Mc^r^^^^^^Y  Miss  Adele  Swabacker 
Dorothy  Davis,      J    "chsl'.     [     ^'^^  ^^^  Rosenstein 

Harriet  Fleming,   )       ^j         I     Miss  Imogene  Riner 
Sadie  Foster,  [•  ..^^j^a^  "  ]  Miss  Dorothy  Glover 

Cora  Seawell,         )  (     Miss  Emily  Stearns 

May  Runnels Miss  Laura  Turner 

Girls  of  the  Class,  not  necessary,  but  more  effective. 

Place. 
A  College  in  the  East. 

Time. 
The  Present. 

Plays   forty-five  minutes. 


8 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

ACT  I. 

Scene.  Study  of  Louise  and  Pat;  Door 
L.  two  R.;  writing  tables  R.  and  L.  Man- 
tel B.  C.  Bookcase,  pillows,  tea  table, 
posters,  banners,  rackets,  golf  sticks,  etc., 
for  college  room.  Girls  in  evening  dress. 
Time,  evening.  Pat  at  table  L.,  studying 
under  lamp.  Mail  mistress,  Mary, 
knocks. 

Pat.     Come  in. 

Mary.  {Enters,  gives  Pat  batch  of  let- 
ters.] A  whole  bunch  for  you,  Pat.  [Puts 
one  letter  on  desk  R.]  Louise  only  gets 
one. 

Pat.    The  mail  seems  late  to-night. 

Maey.  a  whole  hour.  The  mail  man 
was  delayed  by  the  snow  in  coming  up  from 
the  station. 

Pat.    It's  a  beastly  night. 

Maby.  Pretty  big  blizzard;  we'll  have 
some  good  skating  when  it  stops.  Good 
night. 

Pat.     Letters,  but  not  the  one  I  want; 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

even  mother's  letter  won't  satisfy — now — 
I  wonder  if  [Goes  to  desk  R.]  Louise!  0, 
if  I  had  only  known  him  before  I  helped 
Louise  to  win  him,  [Weighs  letter  in  her 
hand.]  She  doesn't  understand  him,  his 
aims,  political  ambitions  She  is  a  child; 
the  wife  of  a  future  foreign  ambassador 
must  be  quick  and  subtle.  Louise  is  too 
true,  I  wonder  if  I  dare — it  would  be  dis- 
honest— I  could  never  forgive  myself — yet 
— what  does  he  say?  [Opens  letter,  reads 
only  heading.]  ''To  my  sweet  little  class 
president" — ''My  dream  girl."  [In  pain.] 
Oh — for  him  to  call  her  that! — after  my 
poem  of  the  ' '  Dream  Girl. ' '  He  thinks  she 
wrote  it,  that  her  heart  has  been  aching  to' 
be  called  that  by  one  whom  she — loves — 
and — and  that  name  is  a  part  of  myself! 
"Why,  why,  didn't  I  meet  him  before  I 
taught  Louise  how  to  win  him ! 

Haeeiet  Fleming.  [Opens  door.]  Louise 
in? 

Pat.     [Startled.]     No,  she  is  at  a  sup- 
per party. 

Haeeiet.     Without  you? 


10 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Pat.  Not  our  set;  merely  presidential 
policy  on  her  part. 

Hareiet.  [Laughs.]  0,  I  see!  [Exit.] 
Pat.  Burn  it  ?  But  it  belongs  to  Louise ; 
— tell  her  I  opened  it  by  mistake.  [Returns 
to  her  own  desk.]  '^ Little  class  president" 
— ^he  seems  impressed  by  her  honor — her 
aptitude  for  political  affairs,  I  suppose,  but 
he  doesn't  know  it  was  I  who  canvassed  for 
her — that  I  am  the  power  behind  the 
throne — oh,  dear,  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting 
jealous  of  Louise — [Singing  of  "  Auld 
Lang  Syne**  heard  in  distance,  Pat  tries  to 
study.]  The  girls  are  returning  from  glee 
club.  [Girls  singing  come  nearer,  Beth, 
Syd,  Chip  enter,  others  pass  down  corridor 
humming.] 

Beth,  Syd,  Chip.  [In  chorus.]  Hello, 
Pat,  working  hard?  Don't  be  such  an 
angel ! 

Pat.    You  seem  well  drilled ! 

Chip.  We  met  the  mail  on  the  way,  and 
were  told  you  were  working. 

Syd.  We  came  to  interrupt  you  for  fear 
you'd  have  more  chances  at  Heaven  than 
the  rest  of  us  lazy-bones. 

11 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Beth.  I  don't  think  it's  good  for  you  to 
study  so  much.  You  will  be  a  nervous 
wreck  by  Christmas  time ! 

Syd.    She  got  high  credit  in  Psychology. 

Beth.  I  should  think  she  would  when 
everj^  month  she  has  a  story  accepted  by 
the  College  Chronicle. 

Chip.  Don't  forget  to  mention  that  sev- 
eral of  those  stories  are  written  by  Pat,  but 
signed  Louise.  Think  of  the  furor  that  lit- 
tle poem  of  the  ''Dream  Girl"  made  when 
it  came  out  in  the  College  Chronicle.  Ev- 
erybody except  us  thinks  Louise  wrote  it. 

Pat.    Ssh!    Ssh! 

Chip.  Excuse  me,  excuse  me,  little 
birdie  peeped  too  loud. 

Syd.  "Well,  you  haven't  told  us  yet  what 
kind  of  a  time  you  had  at  the  house  party. 

Pat.    Oh,  bully! 

Syd.    Who  was  there? 

Pat.  Three  girls  and  three  men,  but  no- 
body you  know  except  Louise,  of  course, 
and  a  man  whom  I  met  for  the  first  time, 
John  Curson. 

Girls.  [In  chorus.]  Was  he  there!  Tell 
us  about  him. 

12 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Beth.  Still  so  uninterested  in  feminin- 
ity? 

Pat.    No,  decidedly  convivial. 

Chip.    Perhaps  his  golf  has  improved. 

Beth.  You  are  always  thinking  of  golf ; 
what  was  the  reason,  Pat? 

Pat.    Ask  me. 

Beth.    Well,  I  do. 

Chip.    Got  anything  to  eatf 

Pat,  You'll  find  some  candy  in  my 
room. 

Chip.    All  right.     [Exit  L.] 

Pat.  He  seemed  suddenly  to  have  awak- 
ened from  his  trance,  they  said,  and  was  at 
last  aware  that  there  were  girls  around. 
"We  quite  impressed  him. 

Chip.  [Off.]  Where  did  you  say  the 
candy  was? 

Pat.  On  my  washstand —  He  really 
danced  consecutively  all  Saturday  night, 
instead  of  retiring,  as  usual,  in  boredom. 

Syd.     Did  he  get  dippy  about  you? 

Pat.    Well,  my  dear, — Louise — 

Chip.     [Off.]     Where  is  that  candy? 

13 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Pat.  Can't  you  find  it?  Look  in  my 
suitcase,  under  the  bed;  where  did  I  put 
it?  Try  the  shoe-box;  I  was  in  such  a 
hurry  to  get  to  my  lectures  this  morning. 

Syd.     But  he  was  dippy  about  you? 

Pat.    Well,  Louise — 

Chip.  [0/f.]  Pat,  I  can't  find  the 
candy,  but  there  is  some  condensed  milk 
on  your  window  sill.  Can  we  make  some 
hot  chocolate? 

Pat.  Certainly;  where  is  that  candy? 
[Goes  L.]  Syd,  you'll  find  the  chocolate 
in  the  bookcase.     [Exit.] 

Beth.  I'm  sick  of  hearing  about 
Louise — it's  always  Louise  with  every  girl 
in  college,  and  Pat  is  really  behind  it  all; 
I'm  tired  of  this  farce  I 

Syd.    It  isn't  right,  it  really  isn't. 
Beth.    Who  virtually  directs  the  class 
meetings  ? 

Beth  and  Syd.     Pat! 

Beth.  Who  remembers  all  the  conven- 
tions and  saves  the  class  from  making 
ignominious  official  moves? 

Beth  and  Syd.     Pat  I 


14 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Beth.  Wlio  writes  Louise's  presiden- 
tial speeches'? 

Syd.     They  sound  like  Pat. 

Beth.  It's  always  Pat.  [Arranges 
cups  on  tea  table.  Enter  Pat  and  Chip 
with  milk  and  candy.'] 

Pat.  Where  do  you  think  I  found  the 
candy?  The  chamber-maid  used  it  as  a 
prop  for  my  three-legged  bureau!  Didn't 
you  find  the  spoons  in  the  book-case? 

Beth.     Nope,  only  the  chocolate. 

Pat.  Of  course;  Louise  took  them  into 
her  room  to  wash.  {Exit  Beth  E.]  You 
know  I  think  housekeeping  at  college  is 
awfully  strenuous;  mother  would  have  a 
fit  if  she  saw  this.  [Blows  dust  out  of 
cup.] 

Syd.  I  always  allow  three  days  for 
cleaning  up  before  my  mother  arrives,  and 
even  then  on  the  third  day  the  girls  are 
bound  to  demand  afternoon  tea  to  plague 
me,  and  mess  all  my  dishes  up  again. 

Beth.  [Enters  from  i?.]  There  are 
no  spoons  there. 

Pat.    How   stupid  of  me  I     That  little 

15 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

freslunaii  across  the  corridor  borrowed 
them  over  Sunday.  I'll  get  them  on  my 
way  back  from  the  tea  pantry ;  I  'm  off  for 
the  hot  water.     [Exit  R.  B.] 

Beth.  [Stirring  mixture  with  paper- 
cutter.']  I'll  muggle  Pat's  *'goo."  You 
know  the  folks  at  home  think  we  are  crazy 
to  mix  sweet  chocolate  and  milk  like  this, 
but  I  can't  drink  the  cook's  cocoa  now;  it's 
too  weak — look  here,  Chip,  you're  for  Pat, 
aren't  you? 

Chip.     Sure,  Mike. 

Syd.  Why  not  put  her  up  for  class 
president? 

Chip.  But  Pat  is  already  booming 
Louise  up  for  her  second  year  of  the  presi- 
dency. 

Beth.  It's  a  pretty  mean  trick  for  us, 
it  seems  to  me,  to  doom  Pat  to  another 
year  of  work  without  getting  the  credit 
for  it. 

Chip.  Well,  that  is  true;  the  elections 
come  off  on  Thursday  afternoon,  so  we 
have  lots  of  time  to  put  Pat  up;  by  Jove, 
I'm  crazy  to. 

16 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Syd.  The  class  seems  dead  solid  for 
Louise  already,  though. 

Beth.    What  if  it  is?       We  have  to 
make  Pat  popular  at  Louise's  expense. 
Chip.    But  how? 
Syd.    We'll  have  to  plan  that. 
Beth.     Simply    show    the    class    that 
Louise  has  been  nothing  but  a  puppet  in 
Pat's  hands   ever    since    she    was    made 
president,  a  year  ago. 

Chip.    But  how  to  do  that? 

[Enter  Pat  with  spoons,  kettle  of  hot 
water,  hox  of  crackers,  open  bottle 
of  olives.] 

Pat.  Pour  the  hot  water  on  the  *^goo," 
Chip,  and  there  are  the  spoons.  I  swiped 
the  crackers  and  the  olives  from  one  of  my 
neighbors;  where  is  that  paper-cutter? 
Shoot  it !  too  big.  Anybody  got  a  hat  pin  ? 
Nobody  has  a  hat  pin?  Louise  has  one  in 
there,  Chip.  [Chip  exit  R.  and  re-enter 
again  with  pin.]  I  won't  hunt  for  any- 
thing more  in  my  room.  The  mice  will 
have  plenty  of  things  on  the  floor  to  play 
hide  and  seek  with  to-night.  My  goodness, 
what  are  you  all  so  grave  about? 

17 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Beth.  "We  have  been  considering  the 
advisability  of  elaborating  upon  a  system 
by  which  you  might  be  the  recipient  of  the 
favors  we  consider  your  due. 

Pat.     Your  temperature  sounds  high! 

Syd.  We  want  to  make  you  president, 
Pat. 

Pat.     That  is  very  kind  of  you. 

Chip.  Would  you  really  like  to  be 
president,  Pat? 

Pat.  [Aside.]  He'd  like  it;  if  Louise 
lost  the  election  it  might  mean  that  he 
would  care  less  and — 

Beth.  We  were  on  the  point  of  debat- 
ing— 

Syd.     Fiddle-sticks;  we  don't  know. 

Chip.    What  would  you  suggest,  Pat? 

Pat.  Rather  queer  of  you  to  ask  me 
that,  isn't  it? — especially,  since  I've  can- 
vassed Louise  to  the  nines  already. 

Beth.  What  is  her  most  vulnerable 
part  in  the  opinion  of  the  class? 

Syd.  Snobbery,  I  should  say;  she  is 
too  identified  with  our  clique. 

Pat.  But  Louise  is  the  most  demo- 
cratic of  us  all. 

18 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Beth.  But  the  class  doesn't  think  so, 
and  that  is  the  point;  if  we  could  make 
Louise  seem  very  much  of  a  snob  and  lord- 
ing it  over  you,  it's  only  the  few  of  us 
who  really  know  your  influence  over  her, 
we  might  succeed  in  ingratiating  you  in 
the  class's  favor. 

Syd.  I  have  it!  In  class  meeting  this 
noon,  you  remember,  the  class  voted  that 
the  committee  to  select  the  play  and  cast 
should  be  appointed  by  the  president!  In- 
fluence Louise  to  appoint  only  snobs  whom 
we  can  control. 

Pat.  Brilliant  and  simple!  I  see  it 
all. 

Chip.  So  quickly?  It  shows  your  wit 
for  president;  the  scheme  is  taking  some 
time  to  penetrate  my  skull;  it's  pretty 
tough  from  all  the  golf  balls  that  have 
struck  it.     But,  if — 

Louise.  [Outside.]  I  hope  you  will 
have  more  success  than  I  did  in  crossing 
the  campus. 

GiELs.     Ssh !    Louise ! 

Louise.  [Enters  R.,  cape  over  even- 
ing   gown    covered    with    snow.]     Hello, 

19 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

girls;  I  haven't  seen  you  since  Pat  and  I 
returned  from  the  house-party  last  night. 
How  cozy  you  look;  I'm  soaked;  drifts  of 
snow  a  foot  deep  across  the  sidewalks. 
[Dries  feet  at  fire.] 

Pat,  Just  a  moment  and  I'll  have  your 
chocolate  ready;  it  will  warm  you  up. 

Louise.  Don't  trouble,  dear,  I'll  do  it. 
[Goes  to  her  desk,  surprised  at  letter 
being  opened,  says  nothing,  puts  it  in  her 
corsage  without  reading.]  Been  having  a 
good  time? 

Syd.     Glee  club. 

Chip.     Where  have  you  been? 

Louise.  Down  in  Chester  Hall — Kate 
Black's  supper  party. 

Beth.  Shouldn't  think  you  would  care 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  her. 

Louise.  I  don't,  particularly,  only  Pat 
said  it  would  be  good  policy  for  me  to  go ; 
to  show  I'm  in  sympathy  with  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  class. 

Beth.  Why  lower  your  dignity  to  min- 
gle with  the  pills? 

Louise.  I,  don't  want  to  be  unkind 
Beth. 

20 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Syd.    The  hall  is  a  box  of  pills. 

Louise.  But  I  have  to  know  the  indi- 
viduals of  the  class  in  more  than  a  casual 
way.    In  appointing  committees — 

Pat.  Oh,  yes,  Louise,  whom  have  you 
decided  to  put  on  that  committee  to  select 
the  play? 

Louise.  Well,  I  haven't  really  thought 
about  it  yet ;  I  've  been  so  busy  with  a  score 
of  other  class  matters  which  heaped  up 
over  Sunday.  I  suppose,  though,  Good- 
rich and  Davis  and — 

Pat.  But  Goodrich  and  Davis  are  the 
best  actresses  in  the  class.  They  ought 
not  to  choose  the  cast. 

Louise.  Why  not?  They  know  so 
much  about  acting  they  would  find  the 
suitable  person  for  each  part. 

Beth.  [Aside.]  That  is  too  demo- 
cratic ! 

Pat.  They  would  take  the  leading 
parts  for  themselves,  and,  of  course,  they 
deserve  them;  but  it  would  look  better  if 
a  committee  appointed  them. 

Louise.     That    is    true;    and,     anyway, 

21 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT, 

they  will  be  given  the  leading  parts,  won't 
they?  They  have  had  them  in  every  play 
we  have  ever  given,  and  the  whole  college 
thinks  them  our  stars. 

Chip.  Cora  Seawell  has  never  been  on 
a  committee  before. 

Louise.  Hasn't  she?  Then  I'll  put  her 
on.     [Writes  down  name.] 

Chip.  [Aside.]  She  is  awfully  snob- 
bish. 

Beth.    Put  Pat  on. 

Pat.  [Quickly.]  No,  I  won't  be  on. 
How  many  did  the  class  vote  to  have? 

Louise.  Five — I'll  put  you  down,  Beth 
and  Syd — that's  three — I  can't  put  you 
on,  too.  Chip,  it  wouldn't  be  fair;  Kate 
Black— 

Syd.  The  girl  to  whose  supper  party 
you  went  to-night? 

Louise.    Yes. 

Pat.     Don't  do  that. 

Louise.     Why? 

Pat.    The  class  will  think   she  bribed 

you  by  asking  you  to  her  party. 

Louise.     0,     how     horrid!       I     never 

thought  of  that. 

22 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Pat.    Put  down  Harriet  Fleming. 

Louise.  [Writes  it.]  And  how  about 
Lill  Jerems? 

Syd.    She  is  such  a  pill. 

Beth.    Not  a  grain  of  wit. 

Chip.  Too  easily  persuaded.  Eats  an 
awful  lot.     [Eats  candy.] 

Pat.     [Aside.]       Really      a      dreadful 

fighter. 

Louise.    How  is  Hester  Scott? 
Syd.    0,  pshaw! 
Beth.     Lupossible. 
Chip.     Dreadful  pill. 
Louise.     Why^ 

Chip.  Oh,  I  don't  know;  don't  like  the 
color  of  her  hair. 

Louise.  But  I  must  t-tke  some  one  who 
isn't  in  our  clique;  the  class  must  be  rep- 
resented. 

Pat.     Put  in  Sadie  Foster. 

Louise.  [Writes.]  There,  that  makes 
five.  Grirls,  you  Fliould  have  seen  the 
professors  snow-balling  each  other ;  it  was 
more  fun,  and,  girls,  did  Pat  tell  you  what 

23 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

a  splendid  time  we  had  at  the  house- 
party?  She  met  John  Curson  at  last.  He 
gave  lis  each  a  box  of  candy  when  we  left. 
"Why  didn't  you  offer  my  candy  to  the 
girls,  Pat?    I'll  get  it.     [Exit  R,] 

Beth.  We  have  that  committee  packed 
to  suit  us  all  right,  all  right.  Weren't  we 
clever?  She  really  is  sweet,  and  dotes  on 
vou,  Pat. 

[Louise  returns  ivith  box  of  candy, 
and  girls,  because  they  have  been 
plotting  against  her,  nervously  be- 
gin to  sing  college  songs;  then  bell 
tolls.] 

Pat.  Quiet  hours,  ssh!  or  we  will  be 
proctored. 

['' Ssh"  is  heard  in  corridor,  Reth,  Syd 
and  Chip  rise  and  putting  hands  on 
each  others  shoidders  tip-toe  c  lit- 
tle dance  out  of  room  ivith  ''ssh'*, 
''ssh''  in  the  time  of  the  chorus  they 
have  just  been  singing  and  quietly 
close  door  behind  .them.  Louise 
takes  out  her  lette'"  to  read.  Pause.] 

Pat.  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  opened 
your  letter  by  mistake. 

24 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Louise.  Did  you!  Then  it  is  all  rigM; 
I  thought  it  was  rather  queer.  Have  you 
one? 

Pat.    ^Vho  from? 

Louise.     John  Curson? 

Pat.     Why  should  I? 

Louise.  [Puts  arms  about  Pat.]  Oh, 
Pat,  isn't  it  great? 

Pat.     What? 

Louise.  Having  a  big  strong  man  in  love 
with  you?  I  have  been  so  excited  all  day; 
1  didn  't  understand  a  word  of  the  lectures 
this  morning.  "What  do  you  think?  I  found 
in  reading  over  my  lectures  that  every- 
where I  should  have  written  Louis  in  my 
history  notes.  I  wrote — John.  I  know  I  am 
a  silly  little  goose,  Pat,  but  I  am  in  love 
this  time. 

Pat.  You  didn't  tell  me  yesterday  that 
he  had — proposed. 

Louise.  He  didn't,  dear,  it's  here.  He 
says  he  has  been  miserable  ever  since  I  left 
and  must  have  a  promise  that — read  it. 

Pat.  No,  no,  I  don't  want  to  read 
your — 

25 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Louise.  Of  course  yon  do ;  I  insist  upon 
it.  [Pat  reads.]  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
going  to  let  a  man  separate  us  even  to  that 
extent?  Our  friendship  is  too  old  and 
means  too  much  [Referring  to  letter],  isn't 
it,  dear! 

Pat.  It's  very  sweet  to  have  that  writ- 
ten to  one. 

Louise.  I  told  him  what  good  friends 
we  are  and  have  been  since  we  met  three 
years  ago ;  he  said  he  would  love  you,  too, 
for  my  sake;  when  we  are  married  you 
must  join  us  on  our  wedding  trip. 

Pat.  You  are  getting  there  rather  soon, 
aren't  you? 

Louise.  I  suppose  I  am  a  little  previous 
— not  until  a  year  from  now  when  we  have 
our  degrees — seems  a  long  time  to  wait. 
But  don't  tell  the  girls,  Pat,  they  would 
never  stop  teasing  me.  You  know,  dear, 
when  he  complimented  me  on  the  stories 
and  your  poem  of  ''The  Dream  Girl"  I 
couldn't  confess  to  him  that  you  had  signed 
my  name  and  had  them  printed  in  the  mag- 
azine before  you  told  me.  Was  it  awfully 
wrong  of  rae  not  to  confess?    They  pleased 

26 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

hira  so  and  T  knew  it  really  wouldn  't  make 
any  difference  to  you.  You'll  forgive  me, 
won't  you? 

Pat.    I  am  glad  they  pleased  him. 

Louise.  He  was  awfully  interested  in 
your  conversation  at  the  house  party,  Pat, 
I  was  almost  jealous,  hut  after  your  coach- 
ing T  managed  to  talk  politics  heautifully. 
Will  you  give  me  some  new  ideas  on  the 
war  question  to-morrow? 

Pat.    "What  are  you  going  to  do  now? 

Louise.    Write  him — everything. 

Pat.    Everything? 

Louise.  What  I  think  and  feel  and — I 
am  not  boring  you,  Pat? 

Pat.     Go  on. 

Louise.  If  I  am,  it  is  because  I  am  so 
used  to  discussing  everything  with  you.  It 
has  been  so  cozy  living  together  at  college 
and  I  love  every  silly  little  trophy  in  this 
room,  the  good  times  we  have  had — and  the 
one  true  friend  I  have  made  here — 
[Pause.]  Well,  I  am  going  to  write  that 
letter  now.  [Louise  scribbles  fast,  Pat 
tries  to  study — pause — Chip  opens  door  R. 
B.] 

27 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDEXT. 

Chip.     Good-nigiit.     [Ei'it.] 

[Pause — enter   Spd    in    kimono,   with 
hook,  R.  B.] 

Syd.  [In  dcsjjair.l  Pat,  did  he  give  us 
all  that  to  read  for  to-morrow?  Sallama- 
fusselm!  T  think  the  amount  is  a  crime! 
"Why,  I've  been  working  on  it  all  evening! 
I've  got  to  stay  up  until  midnight.  [Exit.] 
[Proctored  hij  ''Ssh"  in  hall  as  she 
goes  out.] 

Louise.  [Seals  letter.]  It's  all  done, 
Pat:  and  now  I  am  going  to  bed  to  dream 
— haven't  enough  wit  left  to  study.  Are 
you  going  to  stay  up! 

Pat.     Yes,  T  have  some  economics  to  tab. 

Louise.  Good  night,  then  [Kisses  Pat] ; 
I  hope  your  dreams  will  be  as  sweet  as  I 
Imow  mine  are  going  to  be.     [Exit  R.] 

Pat.     Good  night. 

Beth.  [7;^  kimono,  opens  door  R.  B.] 
I  just  discovered  I  have  a  critical  essay  due 
to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock;  what  shall  I  take 
for  a  subject? 

Pat.     [Witliout   looking   around.]     The 
problems  of  human  existence. 
Beth.     What? 

28 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Pat.    The  in  orals  of  Shaw. 

[Exit  Beth  R.  B.] 

Louise.  [Off  R.]  Pat,  I  forgot  my  let- 
ter and  I'm  undressed ;  will  you  please  i^ut 
it  down  the  chute  in  the  hall?  I  want  it  to 
leave  by  the  early  morning  mail.  [Throivs 
letter  out  on  foor — Pat  piclvs  it  up — pan- 
tomime, hums  it.'] 

Louise.  [Cheerfully  off  R.]  Good  night, 
dear. 

Pat.  [Almost  crossly.]  Good  night. 
[Pause.]     "My  little  Dream  Girl." 

CURTAIN. 


29 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 


ACT  II. 

Scene.  The  same.  Pat  is  giving  a  tea 
party  just  before  the  election.  A  few 
dags  later.  Buzz  of  conversation.  Whole 
cast  on. 

Beth.     [Aside  to  Sgd.]     Do  you  think 
it  will  pan  out? 
Syd.     It's  got  to. 

Beth.     Pat  has  invited  all  the  pills  to 
win  them  over.     [Buzz.] 

Maey.     Let's  have  the  ''Goodrich-Davis 
stunt." 

Dorothy  Davis.     Aren  't  you  sick  of  that 
yet? 

Girls.     [Clap.]     No,   do   give  it,   come, 
now,  do! 

[Davis  bends  to  look  like  old  woman, 
draivs  in  lips  as  if  she  had  no  teeth, 
talks  in   character  voice,   Goodrich 
seats  herself  left,  pantomime  of  the 
wornan  in  an  intelligence  office.] 
Davis.     [To  Goodrich.]     Good  morning, 
are  you  very  busy  to-day  ?  Have  you  a  but- 
ler coachman  desiring  a  situation? 

30 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Goodrich.     A  butler  and    a    coachman, 
madam  ? 

Davis.  No,  indeed,  not  both,  a  butler 
■who  knows  how  to  coach  and  a  coachman 
that  can  buttle.  You  see,  ever  since  the  de- 
cease of  my  dear  departed  husband,  Jere- 
miah Babler,  I  am  Mrs.  Babler.  The  chil- 
dren have  wished  me  to  move  into  a  neigh- 
borhood more  fashionable  these  days,  but 
I  have  insisted  upon  remaining  in  the  old 
homestead ;  but  the  children  have  been  for- 
cible in  their  protestations.  Last  evening 
my  son  Horace,  he  is  33,  stood  on  a  plate 
and  waved  a  chair  above  his  head — as  a 
demonstration  of  his  earnestness — I  mean 
he  stood  upon  a  chair — you  know  I  always 
get  the  horse  before  the  cart.  Now,  Isa- 
bella, and  Natalie  are  debutants  this  year, 
so  they  say  I  must  make  a  good  appearance 
for  their  sakes. 

Goodrich.  How  much  would  you  be  will- 
ing to  give  a  coachman,  madam? 

Davis.  That  would  depend  upon  how 
well  he  buttles.  Horace  has  a  butler  that 
takes  my  breath  away,  his  collars  choke 
him  so,  and  he  senses  the  after-dinner  cof- 

31 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

fee  cups  so  nicely  m  the  coffee;  and  his 
horse  olives,  or  what  do  you  call  those 
spicy  sandwiches  they  serve  before  the 
soup — at  any  rate,  a  coachman  butler  ought 
to  make  splendid  horse  olives,  oughtn  't  he  ? 
GrooDEiCH.  Madam,  did  you  desire — 
Davis.  No,  I  don't  want  any  one  by  the 
name  of  Meyer;  it  must  be  a  fashionable 
name ;  I  should  much  prefer  Leontes  or  Pa- 
ola.  My  son  Horace  says  I  mustn't  get  too 
far  behind  the  band  wagon.  I  shouldn't 
really,  now,  should  T? 

Goodrich.    What  kind  of  a  man — 

Davis.  A  very  kind  man,  of  course,  who 
will  be  kind  to  the  horse  and  the  cook ;  the 
cook  is  a  good  old  soul,  but  in  a  temper  once 
she  almost  killed  a  doughnut  with  Jere- 
miah. The  accident  might  have  been  seri- 
ous, but  fortunately  only  tlie  hole  struck  my 
husband's  little  finger. 

Goodrich.  I  have  never  had  any  appli- 
cants for  such  a  position. 

Davis     Have  you  not  ?    Then  I  am  verv 
much  afraid  you  are  not  in  the  band  wago: 
at  all.    Mrs.  Cornelius  Jones,  Jones  Cray 
field,  Alexander  Jones,  has  such  an  one;  ' 

32 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

see  liim  sneak  from  the  house  to  the  stables 
and  drive  up  in  front  with  the  horses ;  when 
she  is  ont  and  I  call  on  her  I  always  wait 
to  see  that  she  is  out  when  I  call.  There  is 
a  card  pinned  to  the  door,  "bell  broken." 
There  is  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  hav- 
ing a  bell  broken,  now,  is  there? 

GrooDEicH.  Madam,  I  can  only  offer  you 
a  coachman. 

Davis.  I  am  sorry,  that  will  not  do  at 
all;  T  shall  have  to  ask  Mrs.  Cornelius 
Jones,  Jones  Crayfield,  Alexander  Jones, 
just  where  Mr.  Cornelius  Jones,  Jones 
Crayfield,  Alexander  Jones  procured  a 
coachman  who  could  buttle.  [Applause 
from  girls.] 

Chip.  [To  Mary.]  Aren't  you  excited 
about  the  elections'? 

Mary.  Not  very.  Everybody  expects 
Louise  to  be  re-elected. 

Beth.  [To  May.]  You  know  Pat  has 
been  put  up. 

May  Runnels.  Really !  How  interesting, 
room-mates  against  each  other.    Why? 

Beth.  Slews  of  people  in  the  class  think 
Pat  is  a  little  more  democratic  than  Louise, 

33 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

and  cleverer.  Slie  does  so  mucli  work  for 
the  class  and  ought  to  have  the  honor  for 
at  least  one  year. 

May  E.    You  are  right  there. 

Beth.  Bully  for  you.  [Aside  to  Syd.] 
That's  number  six  for  me. 

Cora.  You  aren't  looking  very  well  to- 
day, Louise. 

Louise.  No?  I  haven't  thought  about 
it ;  do  you  know  if  the  afternoon  mail  has 
come? 

Cora.  Yes,  I  think  it  has ;  looking  for  a 
letter? 

Louise.  Well— I  thought— mother  might 
write — that's  all. 

May  E.  Good  bye,  Pat ;  it  was  sweet  of 
you  to  ask  me  to  your  tea. 

Pat.  Don't  hurry  off  yet.  We  are  all 
going  to  the  class  meeting  for  the  elections. 

May  E.     Then  I'll  wait. 

lUxRY.  [To  Goodrich  and  Davis.]  Aren't 
you  excited,  Florence  Goodrich  and  you, 
Dorothy  Davis,  about  the  play?  It  has 
leaked  out  that  the  committee  has  chosen 
"The  School  for  Scandal,"  and,  of  course, 

34 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

everybody  knows  you  will  be  Sir  Peter  and 
yon  Lady  Teazle. 

GooDEiCH.  Wasn't  it  a  queer  committee, 
though I 

Mary.     Why? 

Goodrich.  Not  a  girl  in  it  that  knows 
beans  about  acting ! 

Davis.  I  don't  like  to  be  pessimistic,  but 
I'm  not  so  sure  about  getting  a  part. 

Goodrich.  It  will  kill  me  if  they  have 
cut  me  out. 

Mary.  Oh,  but,  my  dear,  I  am  sure  they 
haven 't. 

Chip.  [Commg  doiun.]  Rather  queer 
committee  for  Louise  to  have  chosen,  I 
think. 

Davis.  She  almost  always  chooses  queer 
ones. 

Chip.  Well,  Pat  didn't  approve  of  her 
choice,  but  what  can  one  do  1  Pat  is  so  sen- 
sible, too.  Ijouise  is  awfully  sweet  and  gra- 
cious, but  to  be  president 

Davis.     One  must  assert  oneself. 

Chip.  You  know  they  have  Pat  up  for 
president? 

35 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Davis.     Yes. 

Chip.     Think  you'll  vote  for  her? 

Davis.  I  don't  tell  any  one  whom  I  vote 
for. 

Chip.  [Moves  off  to  Beth.]  One  wet 
blanket  that  time. 

Goodrich.  [To  Davis.]  If  I  am  not  in 
the  cast  I'll  be  furious;  horribly  snobbish 
committee. 

Syd.  [To  Pat.]  Do  you  think  Louise 
can  spoil  the  plan  by  saying  anything? 

Pat.  She  hasn't  the  courage  and  she 
isn't  quick  enough  to  get  herself  out  of  a 
difficulty.  I  see  no  reason  why  the  plan 
should  not  work.     [Buzz  of  conversation.] 

Louise.  [Raps  on  table,]  May  I  please 
call  the — tea  party  to  order?  I  have  been 
requested  to  let  the  chairman  of  the  play 
committee  read  her  report  here  as  every 
one  is  anxious  to  know  what  play  has  been 
selected.  Will  the  chairman  read  the  re- 
port? 

Beth.  According  to  class  vote  the  com- 
mittee for  the  play  was  appointed  by  the 
president.    The  play  chosen  by  said  com- 

36 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

mittee  is  Sheridan's  ''School  for  Scandal." 
[Applause.]    The  cast  is  as  follows: 

Sir  Peter Chip  Plynton 

Lady  Teazle Pat  Dickenson 

[Gasps  from  girls.] 

Pat.  [Excited  bravado  manner.]  The 
choice  is  absurd;  I  never  acted  in  my  life 
and  Chip  is  an  elephant  in  costume.  There 
must  be  some  mistake.  I  insist  that  an- 
other committee  be  named  that  shall  cast 
the  parts  according  to  merit ;  we  want  jus- 
tice, not  favoritism ! 

[Clapping  of  hands,  exclamations  of 
''Bully  for  Pat,  I'm  going,  to  vote 
for  her;  why  doesn't  Louise  say 
something?"] 

Beth.  Let's  get  a  new  committee  after 
we  have  voted  for  president.  The  rest  of 
the  class  must  be  waiting  for  us  now  in  the 
students' sitting  room. 

Syd.     To  the  elections! 

Chip.  Come  on,  girls!  [Excited  rush 
to  door  R.  B.] 

Louise.  [Authoritatively.]  Stop!  One 
moment.  The  class  meeting  will  wait.  I 
wish  to  speak  to  the  committee  in  your 
presence. 


or 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT, 


Chip.     But- 
Syd.    But- 


LouisE.  Will  the  meeting  please  come  to 
order?  Cora  Sea  well,  why  did  you  vote  to 
give  Chip  and  Pat  the  leading  parts'? 

CoKA.    Why  I — thought  they  could  do  it. 

Louise.  But  why  not  to  some  one  you 
know  can  act? 

CoEA.  I  wanted  to  give  somebody  else  a 
chance. 

Louise.  To  ruin  the  play  and  our  rep- 
utation ? 

Cora.  It  isn  't  fair  to  cast  the  same  peo- 
ple every  time. 

Louise.  Were  you  asked  to  vote  for 
them? 

CoEA.     No. 

Louise.     You  did  it  of  your  own  accord. 

CoEA.     Yes. 

Louise.    You  thought  it  over  carefully? 

CoEA.     Yes. 

Chip.  Bother  the  play;  we  don't  want 
the  parts,  give  them  to  Goodrich  and 
Davis.    Let's  go  to  the  election. 

Louise.    Will  the  meeting  please  come 

38 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

to  order?    Harriet  Fleming,  was  the  vote 
for  Cliip  and  Pat  unanimous? 

Harriet.     Yes. 

Louise.     Without  discussion? 

Harriet.     No. 

Louise.     Ah,  then  there  was  discussion? 

Harriet.     No. 

Louise.    How  no? 

Harriet.     As  to  the  choice  of  play. 

Louise.     Sadie   Foster,   you    still    think 
you  made  a  wise  choice? 

Sadie.    Yes. 

Louise.    You  were  not  persuaded  to  the 
decision? 

Sadie.     No. 

Louise.     You  decided  so  in  a  committee 
meeting? 

Sadie.     No, 

Louise.     Who   was    in   your   room  last 
night? 

Sadie.     Why,  Beth 

Beth.    [Quickly.]    She  means  Beth  Cax- 
ton. 

Louise.     Cora,  was  Syd  with  you  last 
night? 

39 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT, 

Cora.     Yes. 

Louise.     Ah,  slie  was. 

Syd.  Cora  means  that  as  I  passed  her 
room  and  saw  her  sitting  there  I  called  out 
''Hello." 

Cora.     That  is  what  I  meant. 

Louise.  Why  were  you  in  Cora's  hall, 
Syd? 

Syd.    I  went  to  see  Jane  Lester. 

Louise.     At  what  time? 

Syd.     Nine. 

Pat.     Ten. 

Louise.  You,  too?  Jane  was  in  here 
last  night  at  nine  o  'clock ;  she  remained  an 
hour.  Circumstantial  evidence  is  against 
you;  you  must  have  had  some  strong  mo- 
tive for  visiting  Cora,  that  you  take  such 
pains  to  conceal  the  fact.  This  looks  as  if 
there  had  been  false  play  somewhere.  You 
know  the  reasons,  Syd,  for  these  selec- 
tions! 

Syd.     No. 

Louise.  But  you  couldn't  discuss  with- 
out knowing  something? 

Syd.     No. 


40 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Louise.     Then  you  did  know. 

Syd.     Yes. 

Louise.  You  just  said  you  didn  't ;  and 
Beth  knows  your  reasons,  and  Pat? 

Pat.    I  was  not  on  the  committee. 

Beth.  You  didn 't  want  Pat  on  the  com- 
mittee. 

Louise.  She  did  not  wish  to  be!  She 
declared  so  vehemently ;  so  she  knows,  too. 

Syd.     Yes. 

Louise.  Ah,  then  she  does  know,  thank 
you!  Then  will  the  committee  explain  its 
reasons  for  casting  the  play  in  this  wayl 
Will  you  explain  your  reasons? 

Pat.  Eeally,  it  is  a  very  ridiculous  situ- 
ation— I  don't  wish  to  explain,  it  is  all  so 
petty — don't  you  think  we  had  better  go  on 
to  the  election? 

Louise.  I  declare  the  play  committee 
dissolved,  and  will  leave  the  selection  of 
another  one  to  the  president,  my  successor. 
Let  us  go  to  the  class  meeting. 

[As  girls  rush  out,  exclamations  of  ''I 
never  saw  Louise  have  such  poise; 
what  do  you  suppose  it  is  all  about? 
I'm  going  to  vote  for  Louise,  she's 

41 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

been  built/  to  keep  her  temper  like 
that.  I  guess  I'll  change  my  mind 
about  voting  for  Pat."] 

Beth.     [Aside  to  Pat.]    We're  lost. 

Chip.  But  we  can  still  try;  come  on, 
girls.     [Exit  all  but  Louise.] 

Louise.  Just  a  moment  alone  to  think; 
I  don 't  understand  it ;  and  Pat,  that  is  what 
hurts  most;  I  mustn't  show  my  agitation 
as  I  go  in.  [About  to  leave  room  ivhen  tel- 
ephone rings;  answers  it.]  ''Hello,  yes, 
this  is  Louise  Moore — who, — Jack  Curson 
— I,  cold?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you 
expect  me  to  he — answer  your  letter  ?  Why, 
I  did!  You  didn't  get^it?  Oh,  I'm  so 
glad." 

May  R.  [Calls.]  Louise,  the  class  is 
waiting  for  vou. 

Louise.  I  can't  come  now — long  dis- 
tance connection — have  the  vice-president 
take  my  place —  He  never  got  it — he  never 
got  it!  [Exit  girl.]  Your  other  letter? 
AVlien?  Yesterday  morning?  No.  That 
is  strange!  How  could  I  forget  you;  do 
you  really?  As  much  as  that?  All  for  my- 
self?— and  not  because  I'm  class  president? 


42 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

You  had  forgotten  that?  but  I'm  awfully 
worried  about  some  college  matters;  I 
shouldn't  worry?  It's  only  a  little  world, 
you  say,  and  you  don't  care  a  snap  about 
it  only  because  it  holds  me?  [Laughs.]  Oh, 
Jack,  you're  just  bully!  One  year  long  to 
wait?  But  I  want  my  degree.  You  don't 
care?  Yes,  I'd  love  to  meet  you  there  at 
one  to-morrow.  Well,  I  would  like  a  lob- 
ster and  a — chocolate  parfait — good  bye. 
[After  she  has  hung  up  receiver  she  says 
an  enthusiastic  "dear"  into  the  phone.] 
Now,  that  class  meeting! 

[Opens  door  and  stops  to  listen;  the 
class  is  cheering  "Zim,  hum,  hah, 
rah,  rah,  rah,  Moore."  Girls  rush 
down  hall  and  in  doorway;  congrat- 
ulate Louise  upon  re-election.  Exit 
Louise.  Stage  empty  for  a  while, 
noise  outside;  enter  Pat  alone,  shows 
her  disappointment.  Pause.  Enter 
Beth,  Chip  and  Syd.] 

Beth.     [Arms  around  Pat.]    Oh,  we  are 
so  sorry. 

Chip.    Wasn't  Louise  the  limit? 

Pat.     I  never  thought  she  had  it  in  her ; 

43 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

the  plan  would  have  worked  beautifully  if 
she  had  been  unable  to  grasp  the  situation. 
Syd.  Yes,  the  class  was  wild  to  elect 
you  right  after  you  made  your  heroic 
speech  against  favoritism. 

Chip.  Yes,  but  I  would  rather  Pat  had 
not  said  I  look  like  an  elephant  in  costume ! 

Pat.  Well,  it's  all  over  and  we'll  have 
to  make  the  best  of  it. 

Beth.    But  it  makes  me  furious  to  think 


Louise.  [Enters,  goes  to  Pat.]  I'm 
awfully  sorry,  Pat. 

Beth,  [Sneeringly.]  We  congratulate 
you,  Louise. 

Louise.  If  I  had  only  known  long  ago 
how  you  cared,  but  you  were  always  push- 
ing me  forward  so  I  never  dreamed  of  it. 
And  now — girls,  please  sit  down,  we  are 
alone  and  can  talk  more  openly. 

Beth.  It  seems  to  me  you  spoke  openly 
enough  at  the  tea  to  make  us  appear  like 
fools. 

Louise.  You  forced  me  to  defend  my 
honor;  it  came  so  quickly  I  couldn't  fore- 
see the  effect  it  would  have  on  the  elections. 

44 


TEE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Why  did  you  influence  me  to  appoint  such 
a  committee  and  persuade  it  to  cast  the 
parts  in  such  an  unreasonable  way,  then 
publicly  denounce  it? 

Syd.  Because  we  wanted  Pat  for  presi- 
dent and  wanted  to  show  the  class  what  a 
little  fool  you  are 

Pat.    Don't,  Syd,  don't- 


Syd.  Because  we  are  tired  of  having 
Pat  run  you  without  getting  the  credit.  You 
might  thank  us  for  concealing  the  true  rea- 
sons from  the  class. 

Louise.  [Slowly.]  If  you  had  not  kept 
the  true  reasons  from  the  class,  you  would 
have  no  influence  left;  as  it  is,  the  class 
looks  upon  the  whole  affair  as  a  petty  plot 
to  annoy  me ;  a  joke,  if  you  will ;  I  had  in- 
tended withdrawing  my  name  from  the 
nominations,  as  soon  as  I  discovered  you 
had  put  Pat  up,  but  at  the  important  mo- 
ment I  could  not  do  so  without  losing  my 
self-respect. 

Pat.  It's  a  stupid  affair,  Louise,  and 
after  all  very  petty  and  of  no  importance 
a  hundred  years  from  now;  let's  forget 
about  it  and  begin  where  we  left  off. 

45 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Chip.  Whistle  a  foul  and  throw  the  ball 
again. 

Beth.  In  my  opinion  we've  queered 
ourselves  a  bit  with  the  class  and  it's  up  to 
us  to  make  good  again. 

Pat.  I'll  write  a  lyric  about  it  and  we'll 
laugh  it  off.    [Knock  at  door.]    Come. 

Mary.  [Opens  door.]  I  was  just  pass- 
ing by  and  stopped  to  congratulate  Louise. 
[Starts  out.] 

Louise.    Oh,  Mary. 

Maey.    Yes. 

Louise.  Are  you  sure  you  haven't  lost 
any  letters  addressed  to  me? 

Mary.  I  think  not.  You  were  never  in 
when  I  brought  them,  so  I  put  them  on 
your  desk  or  gave  them  to  Pat. 

Louise.     To  Pat? 

Mary.    Yes,  I 

Louise.  That  will  do.  [Exit  Mari/.] 
There  has  been  more  foul  play  here;  you 
have  tampered  with  my  mail. 

[Beth,  Chip  and  Syd  rise  indignant, 
hut  Pat  remains  seated;  Louise  sees 
Pat  is  guilty,  hut  controls  herself.] 

46 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Louise.  [LaiigJis.]  I  am  an  awful  fool, 
really,  girls,  an  awful  fool,  I  know  naw 
wliat  the  joke  is,  some  of  the  seniors  said 
they  were  playing  on  me.  "We  have  forgot- 
ten that  we  were  going  coasting ;  you'd  bet- 
ter hurry  before  it  gets  too  dark ;  will  you 
get  the  sleds  out?  Pat  and  I  will  join  you 
in  a  few  moments ;  I  must  see  to  this  joke 
first,  it  is  so  funny!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  [Closes 
door  on  girls,  faces  Pat  and  sags  in  hurt 
tone.]    How  dare  you? 

Pat.    I  couldn't  stand  it! 

Louise.  You  opened  my  first  letter  and 
read  it. 

Pat.  I  only  saw  that  he  addressed  you 
as  class  president  and  I  couldn't  bear  it, 
Louise,  really,  I  couldn't,  I  was  jealous, 
I 

Louise.    You  didn't  mail  my  letter. 

Pat.    How  do  you  know? 

Louise.  He  telephoned  me.  You  read  his 
second  letter. 

Pat.  Stop!  You  can't  say  that  of  me! 
I  burned  it,  but  I  did  not  read  it.  On  my 
word  of  honor. 

Louise.     What  is  your  word  of  honor? 

47 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

You  cheat  me,  lie  to  me,  use  me  as  a  tool  in 
your  hands ;  what  right  have  you  to  inter- 
fere with  my  affairs,  what  right  to  bum 


Pat.    I  wanted  to  gain  time 

Louise.    For  what? 

Pat.  For  him  to  consider  if  he  really 
cared  for  you  for  your  own  self,  or  to  see 
if  it  were  only  because  you  were  class  pres- 
ident  

Louise.    Because? 

Pat.  Because  I  love  him,  too,  and  I 
wanted  a  chance! 

Louise.  You,  you,  Pat,  you,  oh!  [Pause 
of  grief,  gently.']  I — I — told  him  over  the 
'phone  to-day  that  I  would — marry  him. 

Pat.  We'll  have  to  forget — I  was  wrong, 
Louise — I — the  class 

Louise.  It's  not  the  class  or  the  burn- 
ing of  the  letters  I  am  thinking  about,  it  is 
the  future;  we  cannot  go  on  living  at  col- 
lege like  this. 

Pat.  [Slowly.']  No,  I  suppose  not;  I'll 
exchange  my  room  with  some  one  else — 
whom  do  vou  want  for  a  room-mate? 


48 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

Louise.  There  wasn't  any  one  in  this 
world  I  wanted  for  a  room-mate,  except 
you,  Pat,  and  now  there  is  no  one.  Through- 
out my  college  life  you  have  meant  every- 
thing to  me;  you  have  a  little  coterie  of 
girls  who  worship  you,  but  I  have  no  one ; 
I  have  not  cared  to  make  intimate  friends 
because  I  was  content  with  pleasant  ac- 
quaintances and  your  friendship;  I  can't 
conceive  of  life  at  college  without  that 
friendship. 

Pat.  But  we  can  be  friends  again, 
Louise,  forgive  me 

Louise.  No,  it  can  never  be  the  same; 
you  have  killed  something  in  me,  Pat;  I 
wish  you  hadn't,  Oh,  I  wish  you  hadn't, 
something  which  even  Jack's  love  cannot 
dull  the  loss  of;  I'm  sorry,  Pat,  but  our 
friendship  is  dead.     [Tears.] 

Pat.  Don't,  don't.  [Regret  for  every- 
thing she  has  done  expressed  in  voice.] 

Louise.  [Trying  to  control  herself.]  Col- 
lege doesn't  mean  anj^thing  to  me  now;  I 
shall  have  to  stay  until  Christmas  time  for 
the  sake  of  appearances,  but  I  am  not  com- 
ing back  after  the   holidays.     Then   they 

49 


THE  CLASS  PRESIDENT. 

will  make  you  president.  [Voice  tearful] 
There  is  a  much  bigger  world  outside  of 
these  college  walls  where  I  may  learn  to 
forget.  [Of,  girls  are  singing  " Auld  Lang 
Syne."]  I  shall  have  to— try—  [Louise 
pauses,  then  as  the  song  recalls  the  siveet 
past  of  their  friendship,  puts  out  her  hand 
hnpidsively  and  says,  as  if  her  heart  were 
breaking],  Good  bye,  Pat. 

Picture. 
CURT2VIN. 


50 


CAPTAIN  JOE 


Captain  Joe  was  written  for  Miss  Lydston  and  first 
produced  at  The  Anna  Morgan  Studios,  Fine  Arts 
Building,  Chicago,  March  12,  1908,  with  the  following 
cast: 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

Josephine  Scott   {"Captain  Joe") 

Miss  Josephine  Lydston 

Mildred  Linn,  her  roovi-mate.  .lAis?,  Gladys  Chapeck 
Kate  Winston,  second  team  forward 

Miss  Harriet  Borgwardt 

Pat  Dickenson,  class  president .  .Miss  Eleanor  Potter 
Sue  Carpenter,  unathlctic Miss  Mabel  Weil 

June  Powell,  the  little  freshman 

•  • Miss   Dorothy  Sargent 


Miss  Blanch  INIartin, 
Miss  Greer, 
Miss  Hazel  Yondorf, 
Miss   Hazel   Habberton, 
Miss  Dorothy  Rissman.  ^ 


>  Team  Girls  {from  5  to  7'] 


Place. 
A  College  in  the  East. 

Time. 
Spring. 

Plays  forty-five  minutes. 

(The  class  numerals  must  be  changed  to  suit  the  year 
of  the  performance.) 


52 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

ACT  I. 

Scene.  Kate's  study;  door  to  corridor  L. 
bedroom,  Right  hack,  ivindow  Right 
front.  Banners,  tea  things,  golf  sticks, 
basket-hall,  tennis  racket,  etc.,  to  indi- 
cate a  college  room.  Time,  afternoon. 
Kate,  ivearing  a  hasket-hall  suit  without 
numerals,  squatted  on  cushion,  study- 
ing; Sue  and  June  in  white  shirt  waist 
suits  and  white  shoes;  Sue  in  chair; 
June  lying  on  the  floor.  Fan  themselves 
and  sip  lemonade  to  shoiv  it  is  hot 
weather. 

June.  [Reading  from  book.]  "Turn  ex 
suis  unum  sciscitatum  Roman  ad  patrem 
mittit,  qnidnam  se  facere  vellet,  quando- 
quiedem  ut."  Scissors!  now  what  does 
tliat  mean?  Don't  these  old  Latin  things 
just  floor  you?  [Picks  up  dictionary.] 
Come  here,  Die. ;  I  see  I  shall  have  to  look 
up  every  other  word  as  usual,  and  it's  such 
a  bore!  Kate,  what  does  ' ' quandoquie- 
dem"  mean? 

53 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Kate.  Heavens!  don't  ask  me;  you  can't 
expect  a  junior  to  remember  her  freshman 
Latin. 

June.    Sue,  don't  you  know? 

Sue.  Unfortunately,  I  am  a  junior,  too ; 
I  did  know  once,  but  it  seems  very  long 
ago. 

June.  [Plai/ fully,]  When  you  were  a 
little  freshman  just  like  mel  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  your  Majesties  to-day? 
Any  errands  to  run? 

Kate.  No,  June,  dear ;  even  though  you 
are  only  a  little  freshman  we're  awfully 
keen  about  you.  We  will  limit  class  dis- 
tinction to  your  letting  us  pass  out  of  a 
door  first  and  always  moving  oif  the  side- 
walk to  give  us  room. 

June.  I  am  very  grateful.  Oh,  wasn't 
Livy  a  queer  old  duck ! 

Sue.  Not  half  as  queer  as  my  labora- 
tory lobster,  whose  front  paw,  I'll  have 
you  know,  is  a  ''chela";  he  has  the  fun- 
niest nervous  system.  Imagine  a  lobster 
having  nerves !  and  all  his  legs  are  called, 
scientifically  speaking, — 

Kate.     Please  don't  talk;    it's  getting 

54 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

too  near  final  exams  for  joking.  Wliew, 
it's  hot!  I'm  trying  to  learn  my  litera- 
ture. Let  me  see,  Sir  Thomas  Browne  was 
a  hypochondriac,  he  loved  his  family  and 
died  of  the  cholic  on  his  birthday.  Oh, 
yes,  and  he  wrote  the  '^  Urn-Burial, "  I  al- 
most forgot  that. 

Sue.  Hush,  I've  got  to  learn  my  biol- 
ogy. 

June.  It's  no  fun  working  in  this 
weather;  let's  take  our  books  out  under 
the  trees. 

Kate.  Then  you  surely  wouldn't  get 
anything  done.  There  are  too  many  peo- 
ple on  the  Campus  to  distract  the  atten- 
tion. Please  don't  talk;  I've  got  to  learn 
as  much  of  this  as  possible  before  I  go 
down  for  basket-ball  practice. 

June.  After  your  first  team  has  played  ? 
It's  an  honor  to  make  the  18,  but  I'm  sorry 
they  didn't  init  you  on  the  nine.  What 
position  do  you  play? 

Kate,    Center  forward. 

June.  Oh,  do  you?  Why,  that's  Jo- 
sephine Scott's  on  the  first  team.  Oh, 
well,  no  one  can  play  as  well  as  your  Cap- 

55 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

tain  Joe.  She  is  such  a  star  that  she'll 
surely  make  the  Varsity  after  the  final 
games  are  over. 

Sue.  Girls,  we  must  win  to-morrow; 
think  what  it'll  mean;  we'll  hold  the  cham- 
pionship for  basket-ball! 

June.  [Pretending  to  iveep.]  The  soph- 
omores whipped  us  poor  freshmen  to 
smithereens,  but  you  juniors  had  to  put 
up  a  big  fight  against  the  seniors  even  if 
you  did  win  in  the  end;  now  your  third 
game  with  the  sophomores,  isn't  it  excit- 
ing; how  is  your  score? 

Kate.  The  first  game  was  3  to  0  in  our 
favor;  the  second,  5  to  3  in  theirs;  tomor- 
row's game  settles  the  championship.  Oh, 
if  I  could  only  play  on  the  team! 

June.  You  have  never  made  your  nu- 
merals. 

Kate.  No,  that  is  why  I  feel  so  badly; 
for  the  three  years  that  I  have  been  on 
the  second  team  I  never  was  given  a 
chance  to  substitute  and  play  in  a  match 
game;  I  won't  have  a  chance  to-morrow, 
either;  Joe  is  flawless. 

June.     It  would  be  terrible  if  Captain 

56 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Joe  couldn't  play;  you'll  surely  get  your 
numerals  in  senior  year. 

Kate.  Thanks  for  your  frankness  in 
telling  me  I  can't  play  as  well  as  Joe. 

June.  Play  better  than  your  Captain! 
You  don't  believe  that  yourself. 

Kate.  I  can,  but  I'm  not  as  popular  as 
Joe,  that's  all. 

Sue.  That  has  no  weight  in  selecting  a 
team,  but  Joe  is  undoubtedly  the  most 
popular  girl  in  the  class. 

June.    She  ought  to  be. 

Sue.  [Laughs.]  That'll  do  for  you, 
June;  everyone  knows  you  have  a  crush 
on  Joe. 

June.  Well,  I  suppose  I  have;  I  admit 
I'm  crazy  about  her,  but  I'm  not  the  only 
one;  there  are  dozens  of  sophomores  be- 
sides us  freshmen,  and,  what's  more,  I 
know  a  junior,  that's  you.  Sue. 

Sue.  Oh,  no,  we  know  each  other  too 
well  to  have  our  friendship  a  species  of 
crush.  Don't  you  let  her  hear  the  word; 
she  hates  it  and  squelches  everyone  who 
uses  it  or  sends  her  flowers  or — 


57 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Kate.  Nevertheless,  her  room  is  always 
filled  with  flowers ;  Mildred  says  she  is  the 
one  who  gets  the  most  pleasure  from  them, 
as  she  is  ill  so  much. 

Sue.    Mildred  oughtn't  to  be  in  college. 

June.    Mildred  Linn,  Joe's  room-mate! 

Sue.  Yes;  she  isn't  a  bit  strong  this 
year;  her  work  is  either  wonderfully  bril- 
liant or  very  bad ;  even  the  professors  have 
remarked  it. 

June.  Since  I  was  made  fire  lieutenant,  I 
have  noticed  that  she  is  in  bed  a  great 
deal;  she  hasn't  attended  a  fire  drill  once. 

Kate.  When  are  you  going  to  have  an- 
other drilll  How  I  hate  them!  The  last 
one  was  two  weeks  ago. 

June.    Pretty  soon. 

KLate.  Not  when  the  games  are  on?  You 
couldn't  wake  up  the  teams  at  11  o'clock 
at  night  for  that? 

June.  Of  course  not.  If  you'll  be  good 
and  not  tell  I'll  warn  you;  this  evening  at 
6,  when  all  the  girls  are  in  the  hall  dress- 
ing for  dinner. 

Kate.  Thanks !  That  relieves  my  mind. 
I'll  hang  my  towel  over  that  chair  nearest 

58 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

the  door  so  that  I  can  grab  it  heroically 
as  I  dash  out.  It's  worth  one's  while  to 
appear  first  in  line  and  be  sent  to  inspect 
the  rooms  and  give  the  alarm. 

Sue.  I  should  say  so.  I'm  usually  the 
last  arrival  and  have  the  extreme  pleasure 
of  carrying  a  sand  bucket  to  the  place 
where  the  fire  is  supposed  to  be,  but  is  not. 
Girls,  Girls,  we  must  work ! 

[Girls  turn  to  their  books  again.] 

June.  "Turn  ex  suis  unum  sciscitatum 
Roman  ad  patrem  mittit,  quidnam" — 

Sue.  Girls,  have  you  missed  any  of 
your  things  lately  I 

Kate.  That  was  queer,  wasn't  it,  the 
way  Blanche's  watch  disappeared  one  day 
and  was  returned  the  next?  The  person 
who  stole  it  evidently  didn't  have  the  cour- 
age to  keep  it.  Do  you  suppose  it  was  one 
of  the  chamber-maids? 

June.  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  think  any 
of  the  girls  would  do  such  a  thing.  It  is 
certainly  a  mystery. 

Kate.  Whew,  it's  hot!  [Opens  window.] 
and  I've  got  the  window  up  as  far  as  it 
will  go.    No,  it  must  be  a  chamber-maid; 

59 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

but  wliicli  one?  [Laughing  heard  off ; Kate 
calls  out  of  ivindoiv.]  Joe,  Joe  Scott,  how's 
the  team  to-day? 

Site.  [Rushes  to  window.]  Stop  inhere 
on  your  way  to  your  room;  we  want  to 
hear  particulars.  [Puts  arms  about  Kate 
and  dances  about  room.]  Our  team  must 
win.  I  am  beginning  to  wish  I  could  play, 
too;  but  we,  the  non-athletic,  can  only  sit 
along  the  side  lines  and  howl  for  victory. 
[Kate  opens  door.  Heard  off,  ''Hello, 
Joe;  how's  your  team,  Captainf"] 

Joe.  [Off.]  I  can't  give  you  my  per- 
sonal opinions;  wait  until  we've  played. 

Mildred.  [Off.]  Joe,  aren't  you  com- 
ing in  to  see  me?  I  want  to  tell  you  about 
your  latest  crush. 

Joe.  [Off.]  In  a  moment,  Mildred; I'm 
going  in  to  Kate's  room. 

Mildred.  [Off.]  You  ought  to  see  the 
flowers  the  latest  victim  sent. 

Kate.  Joe,  hurry  up — come  along — tell 
us  about  the  game ! 

Joe.  [Of.]  Coming,  coming;  all  right, 
Charlotte,  hope  you  do;  yes,  if  you  want 
to;  really,  how  funny.     [Enters.]     Hello! 

60 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

[Carries  hasket-hall,  wears  suit  with  nu- 
merals 1909,  face  flushed  with  exercise.'] 
Studying!  Aren't  you  good?  I  hate  to 
think  of  all  the  work  waiting  for  me — you 
ought  to  see  my  philosophy  notes — such  a 
pile — but  what  is  Rosseau  e.  t.  c.  compared 
to  a  final  class  game?    Whew,  I'm  warm! 

Kate.  Tell  us  about  the  game;  how's 
the  team  to-day? 

Sue.    Whom  did  you  play  for  practice? 

Joe.  The  graduates  challenged  us  for 
fun.  It  was  a  close  game.  We  came  out 
4 — 2.    [Sits  on  table  center.] 

Kate.  Good,  in  our  favor;  how  is  our 
team  work? 

Joe.  Improving  steadily;  we'll  put  up 
a  strong  force  to-morrow.  We've  got  to 
win;  if  we  don't,  I  never  want  to  look  at 
anyone  in  college  again.  I'd  feel  it  was 
my  own  disgrace.  But  we  are  going  to 
win  if  everyone  will  only  think  so,  hard, 
we  will. 

Sue.    I'll  hold  my  thumbs! 

Joe.  Sue,  make  the  class  on  the  side 
lines    sing,  sing,  yell;    it   encourages   the 

61 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

team.  Every  time  I  hear  my  name  cheered 
I'm  inspired  to  play  better.  It  stirs  up 
one's  blood.  There  were  only  a  few  spec- 
tators to-day,  so  we  began  without  exhil- 
aration and  played  a  slow  first  half,  noth- 
ing to  nothing;  but  when  the  graduates 
opened  the  second  half  with  a  field  throw 
into  the  basket  you  should  have  seen  the 
reds  pick  up.  Our  girls,  switching  into  a 
fast  game,  passed  the  ball  like  lightning, 
giving  us  forwards  several  tries  at  the 
basket;  but,  the  blue  guards  were  fierce  I 
They  fought  like  heroes!  Their  center 
guard  stuck  to  me  like  glue,  I  couldn't  get 
away  from  her;  her  hands  were  every- 
where and  her  feet  as  well — I  got  onto  her 
tricks  and  jumped  to  catch  the  ball  above 
her  head ;  she  jumped,  too,  using  her  arms 
like  wings ;  but  I  sent  it  to  Flo,  who  put  it 
in!  We  were  then  2 — 2  and  it  was  about 
3  minutes  lacking  time;  we  were  getting 
desperate ;  every  girl  played  like  mad.  The 
ball  was  down  at  our  goal  most  of  the 
time,  but  their  guards  fought  like  demons. 
Mabel  was  down  by  the  basket  when  she 
finally  got  the  ball,  but,  instead  of  trying 
for  it,  tossed  it  sideways  straight  toward 

62 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

me;  there  were  so  many  bunching  about 
the  pole  that  I  had  stepped  up  field  for 
protection.  I  caught  the  ball  like  that,  took 
one  swift  look  for  aim,  and  threw!  Just 
as  the  ball  had  swished  through  the  net  the 
whistles  blew!  Time  was  up  and  we  had 
won! 

Sue.  Joe,  you  darling,  you  peach,  you 
win  every  game! 

Kate.    Your  throws  are  so  sure. 

Joe.  ^Vhew,  I'm  warm!  Let  me  have 
some  water. 

June.  [Only  too  glad  to  serve.]  Here 
is  some,  Miss  Scott. 

Joe.  Kate,  you'd  better  be  down  on  the 
field  in  time  for  your  practice.  It's  about 
5  o'clock  now. 

Kate.  There  is  no  use  in  my  going  to 
practice. 

Joe.  You've  got  to.  Suppose  I  should 
turn  my  ankle — or  die  from  overstudy — 
or  [Picks  up  heads  from  Kate's  desk.] 
swallow  your  beads,  or  anything  serious 
like  that,  you'd  have  to  be  ready  to  take 
my  place. 

Kate.    Well,  nothmg  like  that  is  going 

to  happen. 

63 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Joe.  Oh,  come,  now,  you're  discouraged 
because  you  have  never  had  a  chance  to 
get  your  numerals.  [Indicates  her  own.] 
I'm  as  sorry  as  you  are,  Kate,  but  what 
else  could  we  do  !  When  we  chose  the  nine, 
center  forward  was  my  position. 

Kate.  I  don't  think  yet  that  it  was 
quite  fair  for  you  not  to  give  me  one  of 
the  other  forwards.  I  can  throw  into  the 
basket  twice  to  Flo's  once. 

Joe.  In  a  free  throw,  perhaps ;  but  not 
otherwise. 

Kate.  I  suppose  you  do  know  best ;  only 
I  did  want  my  numerals.     [Enter  Pat.] 

Pat.    Is  Captain  Joe  there? 

Joe.  Here  I  am;  hello!  how's  our  class 
president!  [Takes  her  hand.]  Your  game 
was  good  to-day;  don't  forget  the  pass  to 
Schmidt. 

Pat.  No,  I'll  remember;  I've  come  to 
ask  you  an  awful  big  favor.  I'm  almost 
scared  to  tell  you. 

Joe.    Go  on. 

Pat.  a  bunch  of  the  girls  are  invited 
into  town  to-night  for  dinner  and  theater 
and  insist  upon  my  going.  I  said  I  couldn't 

64 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

without  your  permission.  Of  course,  I  can't 
go  to  the  theater,  as  you  have  ordered  us 
to  be  in  bed  at  9,  but  I  thought  you  might 
let  me  go  for  the  dinner.    Will  you? 

Joe.  [Slowly.]  I'm  sorry,  Pat,  no. 
Even  if  you  went  with  the  best  intentions 
not  to  eat  more  than  is  good  for  a  team 
girl,  I  am  afraid — well,  we're  all  human — 
it  seems  mean  to  say  ''no,"  but  we're  play- 
ing for  the  class. 

Pat.  No  one  knows  that  better  than  I; 
you  are  right;  I  should  have  had  more 
sense  than  to  ask  you.     Good-bye! 

Kate.  Wait  for  me,  I'm  going  your 
way;  girls,  excuse  me.  [Salutes  play- 
fully.] Captain's  orders.  Make  your- 
selves at  home  in  my  room ;  see  you  later. 

June.    At  the  fire  drill. 

Kate.  Put  my  towel  out,  will  you. 
[Exeunt  Kate  and  Pat.] 

Sue.    Girls,  I've  got  to  study  and  drag 

myself  away  from  this  charming  company. 

[Picks  up   books.]      Come  on,  lobster;  I 

wish  you  didn't  have  any  insides.    [Exit.] 

[June  gets  towel  out  of  bedroom  and 

puts  it  on  chair  nearest  door  R.  B.] 

65 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Joe.  Have  you  warned  the  girls  that 
there  is  to  be  a  fire  drill,  Miss  Powell? 

June.  Perhaps  I  shouldn't  have — 6 
0  'clock. 

Joe.  We're  only  too  glad  to  be  pre- 
pared. The  unexpected  alarm  makes  my 
room-mate  very  nervous.  Mildred  isn't 
very  well  and  I  have  to  be  careful  of  her. 

June.  You  are  very  fond  of  her,  aren't 
you! 

Joe.    We  grew  up  together. 

June.  She  must  be  happy  to  have  you 
for  a  room-mate. 

Joe.   [Looks  at  Iter  suspiciously.]  Why? 

June.  Because,  because,  well,  you  are 
the  most  popular  girl  in  college,  and  you 
are  so  good  looking  and  adorable  and — 

Joe.  [Suddenly.]  Did  you  send  me 
some  lilies-of-the-valley  yesterday? 

June.    I  heard  you  say  you  liked  them. 

Joe.  I've  been  watching  you  these  last 
few  days  and  thought  I  noticed  the  first 
symptoms ;  now  be  sensible  and  get  over  it. 

June.    I  don't  think  I  can. 

Joe.    Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  with  you 

66 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

freshmen!  I  try  to  cure  you  by  ignoring 
you  and  not  thanking  you  for  your  flow- 
ers; but  it  doesn't  seem  to  have  any  effect. 
Don't  sit  staring  at  me  in  lectures.  If  you 
knew  me  a  little  better  you  would  see  what 
a  cross,  ugly,  ill-tempered  girl  I  am — 

June.  No,  you're  not;  we  know  better 
than  that. 

Joe.  Can't  you  see  you  are  only  mak- 
ing yourself  ridiculous? 

June.  But  I  do  sincerely  worship  you. 
I've  lain  awake  trjdng  to  plan  a  way  to 
make  you  notice  me;  I've — 

Joe.  [Kindly.]  Now,  listen;  call  me  by 
my  first  name,  June,  and  here  is  my  hand 
upon  our  friendship;  mind,  I  said  friend- 
ship; don't  you  dare  let  any  one  call  it 
crush ;  but  until  you  reform  I  consider  you 
a  goose ;  now  go  and  think  it  over. 

June.    It's  very  good  of  you — 

Joe.  Eun  along — I  won't  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  you  until  you  have  learned 
to  be  sensible.  [Exit  June.  Joe  goes  to 
windoiv.]  Heavens!  it's  warm.  [Calls 
out  of  windoiv.]  Hello,  Bess.  Hot?  I 
should  say  so!     You've  bought  your  hat 

67 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

for  garden  party?  Yes.  pink  is  very  be- 
coming to  yon.  [Takes  glass  of  water, 
Enter  Mildred.] 

MiLDKED.  Aren't  you  coming  liome,  Joe? 

Joe.  Well,  Mildred,  did  you  think  I  had 
deserted  you.    How  have  you  been? 

Mildred.  My  head  feels  queer  again. 
I've  been  lying  down. 

Joe.  I  thought  you  said  you  were  going 
to  the  tea. 

MiLDEED.    It  was  too  Warm. 

Joe.  Have  you  a  fever?  Oh,  my  dear, 
where  did  you  get  the  pin? 

MiLDEED.  [Puts  hands  nervously  to 
neck.]  Pin?  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  forgot  I 
— I— 

Joe.  [Quietly  unclasps  it  and  puts  it  in 
her  icaist.]    Where  did  you  get  it,  dear? 

MiLDEED.  [In  despair.]  I  don't  know, 
Joe,  I — 

Joe.    It  looks  like  Helen's. 

Mildred.  I  was  in  her  room — just  a  mo- 
ment, Joe,  to  find  a  note-book;  I  didn't 
want  to — Joe — 

Joe.    Very  well,  dear,  I'll  take  care  of  it 

68 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

and  return  it  to-night  when  everyone  is  ex- 
cited over  the  fire  drill.  There  is  to  be  one 
at  6. 

Mildred.  I  am  so  glad  you  told  me;  I 
see  Kate  has  her  towel  ready.  It's  so  fool- 
ish to  have  to  take  one ;  if  there  should  be 
a  real  fire  every  girl  would  dash  out  with 
a  dry  towel  from  force  of  habit  and  abso- 
lutely forget  to  wet  it,  as  protection  against 
smoke. 

Joe.  [At  telephone.]  Elmhurst  Sta- 
tion, Central,  please.  University  Club 
House.  Is  Mr.  Harold  Webster  there? 
Yes.  [To  Mildred.]  A  walk  on  the  campus 
to-night  will  do  you  good. 

Mildred.  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed,  Joe,  and 
have  my  dinner  sent  up  to  me. 

Joe.  [At  telephone.]  Harold?  The 
game  is  at  4 :30  to-morrow.  Are  you  com- 
ing? Of  course,  we'll  win.  How's  your 
crew?  We're  coming  down  on  Saturday 
to  cheer  them  on. 

[Mildred  steals  beads  lying  on  Kate's 
desk;  Kate  enters  in  time  to  see 
her,  hut  Mildred  does  not  know  it; 
Kate  is  aghast,  sags  nothing.] 

69 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Joe.  [At  telephone.]  If  you  stay  to 
dinner  after  the  game  to-morrow  you'll 
have  to  go  home  right  after,  because  I 
have  a  quiz  the  next  day.  Mildred,  Har- 
old wants  to  know  what  a  quiz  is  compared 
to  him? 

MiLDEED.  Tell  him,  it's  the  difference 
between  a  High  Credit  and  a  Flunk. 

Joe.  She  says  the  difference  between  a 
High  Credit  and  a  Flunk.  [To  Mildred.] 
What's  worth  more? 

Mildred.    The  Flunk. 

Joe.  [At  teleplione.]  The  Flunk.  Yes, 
I'll  meet  you  after  the  game,  under  the 
Japanese  cherry  tree.  Thanks  for  the 
roses.  Good-bye!  Come  on,  Mildred,  I've 
got  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Mildred.  And  I'm  going  to  bed.  Good- 
bye, Kate.     [Exit.] 

Joe.  Good-bye,  Kate  I  You  see,  I  made 
myself  very  comfortable  in  your  room,  as 
usual.     [Exeunt.    It  groivs  dark.] 

Kate.  [Alone.]  She  took  my  beads; 
what  shall  I  do?  I  can't  accuse  her;  so 
she  is  the  girl  who  has  been  taking  things  I 
I  never  could  have  believed  that  of  Mil- 

70 


CAPTAIN  JOE, 

DEED.  I  wonder  if  Joe  knows;  she  must. 
Oh,  perhaps  it's  Joe  who  returns  them. 
[PoMse.]  I  almost  wish  Joe  couldn't  play 
to-morrow;  I  want  my  numerals  so,  so 
badly;  but  no  such  luck  for  me.  [Fire 
bell  heard.]  Oh,  slivers  garillamajigs !  I 
forgot  that  fire  drill;  where 's  my  towel? 
It's  getting  so  dark.  Towel,  towel,  where 
are  you? 

[Exit.    Leaves  her  door  open.    Enter 

Joe  stealthily  to   return  the  heads 

that  Mildred   had   taken.   Noise  of 

drill    off.     Just    as  she  is   leaning 

over   Kate^s    desk,  enter  June  and 

all  girls  except  Mildred.] 

June.     [Authoritatively,]    The  fire  is  in 

here.     [Switches  on  light;  Joe  discovered; 

appears  guilty;  picture.] 

CURTAIN. 


71 


CAPTAIN  JOE, 


ACT  IL 

■Scene.  The  next  afternoon.  Study  he- 
longing  to  Joe  and  Mildred.  Boor  to 
corridor  L.  B.  Window  looking  out  upon 
athletic  field  L.  F.  Boor  to  Joe's  room 
R.;  to  Mildred's  R.  F.  Room  filled  with 
flowers.  Banners,  etc.,  to  indicate  col- 
lege room. 

Joe.  [In  hasket-hall  suit  stands,  center 
of  room,  reading  note.]  ''The  team  must 
neither  lose,  nor  win  a  game  ingloriously ; 
the  class  regrets  that  it  must  ask  the  Cap- 
tain for  her  resignation.  By  order  of  the 
President."  [Crumples  paper  in  hand.] 
There  is  nothing  I  can  do,  nothing  I  can 
say,  nothing.  To  be  put  off  the  team! 
[Calls  R.  F.]  Mildred!  [Looks  into  Mil- 
dred's room.]  Mildred,  not  there;  poor 
child,  she  is  afraid  and  I  can't  speak. 
[Wanders  about  room  as  if  not  knowing 
what  to  do  ivith  herself;  picks  up  hunch  of 
flowers.]  No  fresh  flowers  to-day  for  Cap- 
tain Joe — not  even  from  the  freshmen — 
''The  team  must  neither  lose  nor  win  a 


72 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

game  ingloriously."  [Knock  at  door.] 
Come.     [Enter  Pat  and  Sue.] 

Pat.  We  came  to  tell  you  that  we  are 
sorry  we  had  to  do — as  we  have  done — we 
debated  the  question  a  long  while. 

Joe.  From  your  point  of  view  you  are 
justified.  I  did  not  know  what  you  would 
do ;  your  note  came  after  I  had  put  on  my 
suit. 

Sue.    Joe,  have  you  nothing  to  say? 
Joe.    I  have  said  before  that  I  was  in- 
nocent. 

Sue.  But  explain.  I  can't  doubt  you 
even  if  circumstantial  evidence  seems  to 
prove  that  you  are — please  explain. 

Joe.    I  cannot;  you  must  take  my  word. 

Pat.  But  if  there  is  any  way  of  clear- 
ing yourself,  speak;  think  what  it  will 
mean  to  the  class!  The  team  is  panic- 
stricken,  it  needs  your  strength;  for  the 
sake  of  the  class — 

Joe.  I  can't;  you  have  lived  with  me 
three  years,  and  have  never  known  me  to 
be  dishonest  in  word  or  deed ;  I  have  been 
accused  sometimes  of  being  too  frank; 
you,  who  know  that  my  record  is  clean; 

73 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

you,    who   have   been   my   friends,    must 
trust  me  and  believe  me. 

Pat.  But  tell  us  why  you  were  in  Kate's 
room  last  night;  you  give  no  reason;  at 
the  time  you  should  have  been  at  the  fire 
drill;  you  knew  there  was  to  be  one;  you 
see  everything  looks — so — 

Joe.  I  admitted  last  night  that  my  po- 
sition was  strange.  I  had  a  reason  for 
going  into  Kate's  room,  but  I  refuse  to 
tell  it.  You  must  have  faith  in  my  word. 
You  know  I  took  nothing. 

Sue.  But  Kate  said  that  her  beads  were 
on  the  table  and  not  on  her  writing  tablet, 
where  she  had  left  them,  which  seems  to 
prove  that  you  touched  them,  and — oh, 
Joe,  I*m  sorry. 

Pat.  Then  there  is  nothing  we  can  do; 
the  Athletic  Association  is  not  satisfied  to 
take  you  at  your  word.  It  requires  evi- 
dence. I  had  hoped  that  you  could  ex- 
plain and  play  after  all.  The  game  be- 
gins in  fifteen  minutes  and  we  are  going 
to  lose.  Joe !  Joe !  the  team  is  in  a  panic. 
Why  did  you  do  it? 

Joe.     Is  my  team  panic-stricken?     Let 

74 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

them  come  to  me  liere  before  they  go;  I 
must  give  Kate  Winston  some  pointers; 
you've  put  me  off  the  team;  you've  taken 
away  my  authority ;  but  the  girls  must  win 
and  I  am  the  only  one  to  encourage  them ; 
please  let  them  come,  please,  please;  they 
must,  must  win. 

Pat.  [Pause  of  doubt.]  Very  well;  it 
is  our  last  hope. 

[Exeunt  Pat  and  Sue;  in  going  out 
hump  against  June  coming  in — this 
to  create  a  laugh.] 

June.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Joe!  Joe! 
they've  put  you  off  the  team;  what  shall 
we  do?  It  breaks  my  heart  to  hear  the 
whole  college  talking  about  you  and  say- 
ing— 

Joe.  That  I  am  a  thief.  Say  it,  say  it, 
believe  it  like  the  rest,  even  though  I  swear 
it  isn't  true. 

June.    Where  is  Mildred? 

Joe.  Ah,  even  you  believe  me  guilty; 
Mildred?  I  don't  know.  She  didn't  get  up 
until  noon  and  didn't  hear  until  then  of 
my — disgrace;  she  hasn't  come  back  since 
then.    She  hasn't  been  feeling  well. 

75 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

June.  I  saw  Mr.  Webster  crossing  the 
campus  on  the  way  to  the  athletic  field. 

Joe.  [Looks  out  of  window.]  Harold 
at  the  game  and  I  not  there!  "Where  is 
he?  They  are  crowding  along  the  side 
lines.    What  time  is  it? 

June.  [Looks  at  watch.]  Four-twenty. 
Joe.  Ten  minutes  before  the  game;  go 
explain  to  Harold  what  has  happened ;  tell 
him  it  isn't  true,  what  they  are  saying 
about  me;  even  if  you  don't  believe  me 
yourself,  tell  him. 

[Team  girls  troop   in,  all   in  hasket- 
hall  suits  with  numerals,  Pat,  Kate 
— Kate  has  on  numerals.  Exit  June 
through  crowd.] 
Pat.    I  have  brought  the  team. 

Joe.  Girls,  they  have  taken  away  from 
me  the  right  to  command  you;  they  have 
disgraced  me,  your  Captain,  before  the 
college;  there  was  nothing  else  for  them 
to  do.  I  cannot  explain,  although  I  swear 
before  all  the  world  that  I  am  innocent; 
you  have  looked  to  me  for  your  orders; 
I  have  coached  you,  watched  you,  encour- 
aged you ;  I  have  taught  you  a  clean,  hon- 

76 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

orable  game;  in  your  hearts  you  must 
know  that  I  have  been  honorable;  don't 
add  to  my  disgrace  that  of  defeat — girls, 
play,  play  to  win;  play  for  the  class  and 
my  honor.  It  is  at  stake;  it's  up  to  you 
to  make  good.  Kate  Winston,  the  numer- 
als you  are  wearing  for  the  first  time  as 
you  enter  your  first  match  game,  are  of 
the  color  of  our  class;  reverence  them; 
they  are  the  symbols  of  class  honor,  which 
you  are  called  upon  to  protect.  If  you 
lose,  lose  nobly ;  if  you  win,  be  charitable. 
You  are  playing  in  my  place ;  play  boldly ; 
the  girls  may  look  to  you  for  encourage- 
ment from  force  of  habit;  we  cannot  ex- 
pect you  to  give  it  to  them,  but  let  them 
see  your  energy  concentrated;  be  brave, 
play  for  all  that's  in  it,  and  grin,  grin — 
don't  lose  your  nerve — grin,  grin!  If  1910 
makes  a  foul,  giving  you  a  free  throw  for 
the  basket — take  all  the  time  you  want  for 
your  aim  and  don't  lose  your  nerve.  If 
she  misses,  Wainwright,  catch  the  ball  and 
don't  forget  the  quick  pass  to  Flanders. 
Nelson,  don't  run  with  the  ball;  you 
fouled  twice  yesterday;  Schmidt,  jump  if 
your  opponent  is  too  tall;  guards,  don't 

77 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

walk  witli  the  ball ;  fight,  fight  like  demons. 
Now  you've  got  to  play  for  all  there's  in 
it;  you've  got  to  play  to  win;  you  can, 
you  will,  you  must;  you're  playing  for  the 
championship.  Your  class  president  is 
with  you,  you  are  playing  for  her,  for  me, 
for  the  class;  play,  girls,  play;  Pat,  take 
them  on  to  victory,  to  victory!  [Exeunt 
girls,  Joe  rushes  to  the  window — calls  out.] 
Kate  Winston,  play  for  the  numerals,  1909, 
the  red,  our  class !  [Buries  her  face  in  her 
hands;  cheering  is  heard;  looks  out  of  win- 
dow again,  quickly.]  They  are  taking  the 
field. 

June.  [Enters.]  Joe,  Mr.  Webster  be- 
lieves you;  he  wants  to  speak  to  you  now, 
won 't  you  come  down  to  the  field  ? 

Joe.  No,  no,  I  could  not  bear  to  have  the 
whole  college  staring  at  me. 

June.  But  he  can't  come  up  here  with- 
out a  chaperon. 

Joe.  I  can't  go;  are  you  sure  he  trusts 
me? 

June.  I  couldn't  talk  to  him  long  be- 
cause he  has  some  college  men  with  him, 
but  he  took  me  aside  to  give  me  this  for 

78 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

you;  he  asked  that  if  you  could  not  come 
now,  you  should  meet  him  after  the  game 
under  the  Japanese  cherry  tree.  \_Gives 
her  small  package.] 

Joe.  [Opens  it,  screams  with  delight.] 
Harold!   June,  it's  his  fraternity  pin! 

June.    Do  you  care  enough  to  wear  it? 

Joe.  [Pins  it  on  waist,  triumphanthj.] 
Care!  I  didn't  know  he  cared  so  much! 
Ah,  he  believes  me!  [Shouts  from  field 
heard.  Joe  looks  out  of  windoiv;  expresses 
disappointment.]  0,  a  goal  for  the  sopho- 
mores !  They  begin  again,  catch  it.  Nelson, 
0,  0,  butter-fingers,  run  up  for  it  Schmidt, 
good,  good,  now  pass,  that's  it,  0 — [Sus- 
pense.] it's  down  at  our  goal,  try  for  the 
goal,  try  for  the  basket,  Kate,  put  it  in, 
[Anger.]  you  fool,  you  fool;  the  sopho- 
mores are  passing  it  back,  at  their  goal 
again,  guards  fight;  Pat  fight  [Whistle 
heard.]  What?  Foul  on  Nelson  for  walk- 
ing with  the  ball. 

June.  The  sophomores  have  a  free 
throw  for  the  basket,  their  center  forward 
is  slow  but  sure ;  do  you  think  she  will  put 
it  in?    Every  one  is  waiting  breathlessly. 

79 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

I'll  cross  my  fingers  to  make  her  miss;  she 
is  aiming,  there,  she  has  raised  her  arms — 

Joe.  [In  despair.]  In!  3 — 0,  we're 
losing!  Pat,  Pat,  make  them  win.  Eun, 
Schmidt,  rim,  pass  to  Flanders;  that's  it, 
splendid,  bully.  [Whistle  heard.]  Good! 
foul  on  the  sophomores ;  now  Kate  gets  a 
free  try  for  the  basket;  June,  I  can't  look, 
[Turns  away  from  window.]  is  she  taking 
steady  aim? 

June.  She  seems  nervous,  but  is  wait- 
ing to  steady  her  hand — 

Joe.  [Holds  thumbs,  eyes  closed,  mut- 
ters as  if  thought  is  concentrated  upon 
winning.]  Put  it  in  Kate,  put  it  in,  put 
it  in. 

June.    She's  taking  aim. 

Joe.    Put  it  in,  Kate,  put  it  in. 

June.  [Scream  of  despair.]  She  missed 
it!  The  sophomores  have  the  ball  down 
the  field  again.  They're  playing  like  mad; 
1909  is  discouraged;  0,  if  you  were  only 
on  the  team. 

Joe.  We're  lost,  we're  lost,  what  time 
is  it?  The  first  half  must  be  over  soon. 
What  are  they  doing  now?    I  haven't  the 

courage  to  look. 

80 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

June.    It's  down  at  your  goal  again. 

Joe.  [Rushes  to  windoiv.]  Is  it?  Bully, 
Flanders,  bully,  catch  it!  Kate,  tliat's  it — 
0,  0, — no,  no — don't  do  that  0,  0, — 
guards,  guards,  [Despair.]  0, — 0, — 0, 
June,  0 — Heavings,  5 — nothing,  we  're  lost ! 
[Whistle  heard.]  Time!  the  end  of  the 
first  half. 

[Enter  team  girls,  panic-stricken.] 

Pat.  Joe,  we're  losing  the  game,  we're 
losing  the  game ;  help  us ! 

Joe.  [In  anger.]  What  do  you  mean 
by  coming  to  me  in  such  a  panic  i  Go  back 
to  your  trainers!  This  is  the  time  the 
sophomores  are  using  for  rest,  while  you, 
you  are  wasting  your  strength,  losing  your 
nerve.  [Stamps  her  foot.]  Go  back  to 
your  trainers,  every  one  of  you ! 

Kate.  [In  tears.]  Joe,  Joe,  I  tried  my 
best,  I  just  couldn't  get  the  ball  in. 

Joe.  Go  back  to  your  trainers,  I  tell 
you !  Do  you  want  to  add  ridicule  to  your 
defeat?  Make  us  the  laughing  stock  of  the 
college?  When  you  look  like  whipped 
dogs  I  despise  you!    The  game  isn't  over 


81 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

yet.  Go  back  to  your  trainers  and  when 
you  play,  play  like — the  deuce ! 

Pat.  Joe,  if  you  could  play  we'd  win 
yet! 

June.  She  can  play,  she  can  play,  take 
"her  with  you!  It  was  I  who  stole  Kate's 
beads  and  Joe  went  to  put  them  back. 

Pat.    You — 

June.  Yes,  yes,  I  confess  it;  this  is  no 
time  to  question  me;  take  her  with  you, 
she  must  play ! 

[Girls,  screaming  with  delight,  rush 
Joe  out — whistle  heard.] 

June.  [Alone.]  Now  they'll  win,  why 
didn't  I  think  of  doing  that  before? 
Goodie,  they  are  all  cheering  her.  0,  she 
is  a  darling!  and  she  looks  so  stunning  on 
the  field ! 

Mildred.  [Enters,  starts  at  seeing 
June.]  You  here?  I  thought  every  one 
was  at  the  game. 

June.  Where  have  you  been!  Nobody 
could  find  you  when  Joe  asked. 

Mildred.  [Quickly.]  Did  Joe  say  any- 
thing against  me? 

82 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

June.  Against  you,  Miss  Linn?  Joe 
would  never  dream  of  such  a  thing.  [At 
window.']  The  team  is  playing  splendidly. 
Joe  is  everywhere  at  once.  Are  you  feel- 
ing better? 

Mildred.  {Relieved.']  I  was  this  morn- 
ing, but  when  I  heard  about  what  hap- 
pened in  Kate's  room  last  night  I — I 

June.    It  cut  us  all  up. 

Mildred.    It  has  made  me  miserable. 

[Enter  Kate.] 

Kate.  Mildred,  I  saw  you  come  in  and 
want  to  talk  to  you. 

June.    Then  I'll  vanish. 

Kate.    You  don't  mind,  June? 

June.    0,  no.    [Exit.] 

Mildred.  [Nervously.]  You  got  your 
numerals,  after  all. 

Kate.  [Nervously.]  Do  you  know  how 
it  happened  they  put  Joe  back  on  the  team? 

Mildred.    No. 

Kate.  June  Powell  said  she  stole  my 
beads  and  Joe  was  returning  them  without 
my  knowledge,  when  we  found  her  there 
in  the  dark. 

83 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Mildred.  [Nervously.]  June  Powell, 
the  little  freshman?     Why — 

Kate.  You  see,  even  if  Joe  is  exoner- 
ated by  June's  lie,  June  is — 

MiLDKED.  Lie?  How  do  you  know  it  is 
a  lie? 

Kate.  Because,  yesterday  afternoon, 
when  I  found  you  and  Joe  in  my  room,  I 
saw  you  take  the  beads  off  the  desk — 

Mildred.    You  saw — 

Kate.    I  didn't  know  what  to  say — I — 

Miildred.  I  didn't  meant  to — I  didn't 
mean  to — 

[Cheers  heard.] 

Kate.  [Rushes  to  tvindotv.]  We  made 
a  goal. 

Mildred.  But  if  you  saw  me,  why  didn't 
you  tell,  why  did  you  let  suspicion  rest  on 
Joe? 

Kate.    Why  did  you? 

Mildred.  I'm  too  weak  to  confess;  I 
want  to,  but  I  can't,  but  it  was  your  duty 
to  tell  for  the  sake  of  the  class — ah,  I  see, 
you  wanted  your  numerals,  your  chance 

84 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

to  play  and  Joe  being  put  off — your  num- 
erals dishonorably  won!  ! 

Kate.    How  about  your  dishonor? 

Mildred.  Dishonor?  I'm  sick,  I  don't 
want  the  things;  Joe  always  puts  them 
back. 

Kate.  Then  it  will  be  so  much  the  easier 
for  you  to  tell.  [Whistle  heard.']  A  foul 
on  the  sophomores;  Joe  has  a  free  throw; 
hold  your  thumbs;  in!!  0,  Joe,  you're 
bully!  We  must  win.  [Turns  from  ivin- 
doiv.]  It  was  I  who  made  us  lose  the  first 
half.    You  must  explain  that  you  are  ill. 

Mildred.    I  can't,  I  can't — 
Kate.    You  must,  we  can't  let  suspicion 
rest  on  June  Powell. 

Mildred.    I  haven't  the  courage — 

Kate.  It  is  the  only  thing  for  you  to 
do ;  if  you  don't,  I  shall  tell  on  you.  [Looks 
out  of  window.]  Joe,  Joe,  put  it  in,  put  it 
in,  shoot  it,  pass,  pass,  try  for  the  basket, 
Joe — whee!  !  !     [Cheers  heard.] 

Mildred.    What's  the  score? 

Kate.  5 — 5 — we're  even;  our  team  is 
mad;    I   never   saw   them    so    desperate. 

85 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

[Suspense.]  0—0 — Nelson,  don't  walk 
with  the  ball.  [Whistle  heard.]  Slivers  I 
foul  on  our  team !  If  that  sophomore  cen- 
ter forward  makes  a  basket,  we're  lost,  it's 
about  two  minutes  lacking  time ;  cross  your 
fingers,  I'll  put  out  my  tongue! 

Mildred.  [Fingers  crossed.]  Miss  it, 
miss  it,  miss  it! 

Kate.  [In  glee.]  Missed!!  Now,  girls, 
play;  Schmidt,  run;  that's  it,  good,  0,  too 
bad,  there  it  comes  again.  Bravo,  Joe,  she 
leaped  into  the  air  for  that — look,  look — 
[Screams  heard.]  She  threw  it  in!  [Whis- 
tles.] Time,  we've  won,  we've  won. 
[Cheers  heard.  Kate  embraces  Mildred  in 
frenzy.] 

Enter  everyhody,  screaming,  ''We've 
won,"  ''we  hold  the  championship," 
"three  cheers  for  Captain  Joe." 

Joe.  [When  noise  subsides.]  Girls,  the 
championship  is  ours,  but  our  victory  can- 
not be  complete  until  we  have  vindicated 
a  member  of  the  Freshman  class,  who  has 
taken  upon  herself  the  blame  of  a  member 
of  our  own ;  I  am  speaking  of  June  Powell^ 
is  she  here  1 

June.  Here  I  am. 

86 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

Joe.  [Gives  her  her  hand.]  Tliank  you 
for  your  loyalty  to  your  Juniors ;  I  would 
not  have  accepted  your  sacrifice  had  I  not 
known  in  my  heart  that  I  was  fit  to  lead 
the  team  gloriously  to  victoiy  or  defeat; 
it  was  our  only  salvation  for  the  moment ; 
but  now  we  must  clear  you.  Girls,  June 
Powell  took  the  blame  upon  herself  in  or- 
aer  to  save  our  team.  She  is  innocent, 
will  no  one  speak? 

[Silence.] 

Kate.  Joe,  let  me  say — [Aside  to  Mil- 
dred.]   Tell— 

Mildred.  Joe,  I — I — didn't  want  to  do 
it;  I  never  want  to  take  anything,  but  I 
can't  help  myself  and,  girls,  she  always 
puts  them  back,  always.  I  didn't  want 
Kate's  beads,  but  they  lay  on  her  table  and 
glittered  and — and — Joe  took  them  away 
from  me  when  she  found  I  had  them  and 
to  save  me — went  to  put  them  back — but  I 
didnt  mean  to — I  didn't — 

Joe.  [Puts  arm  about  her,  protectingly.] 
There,  there,  the  girls  understand.  Don't 
you,  girls?  [Motions  to  them,  threaten- 
ingly.]   Say  that  you  do. 

87 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

GiKLS.  That's  all  right,  it's  all  ex- 
plained, Mildred. 

Sue.  [Goes  to  Mildred]  We  all  know 
you  haven't  been  feeling  well.  [Takes  her 
aside.] 

Girls.    Three  cheers  for  Joe. 

Kate.  [Takes  off  her  numerals,  goes  to 
Joe.]    Will  you  take  them? 

Joe.  Take  your  numerals!  When  you 
have  played  in  a  match  game?  The  num- 
erals you  have  worked  so  hard  for? 

Kate.  I  don't  deserve  them;  I  made 
the  team  lose  the  first  half. 

Girls.  You  couldn't  help  that,  Kate; 
don't  give  up  your  numerals. 

Joe.  My  dear  girl,  we  don't  want  them; 
you  have  a  perfect  right  to  them ;  they  are 
yours. 

Kate.  [Shakes  her  head  slowly.]  Please 
take  them. 

Joe.    [Hands  behind  hack.]  No. 

Kate.    I  lost. 

Joe.    No. 

Kate.  Take  them,  I  don't  want  them, 
they  burn  me! 

88 


CAPTAIN  JOE. 

[Pause,  Joe  takes  them  slowly,  with- 
out speaking.] 

Man.  [Voice  heard  through  windoiv.] 
Is  Captain  Joe  there! 

June.    Yes. 

Man.  Tell  her,  will  you  please,  that  I 
am  waiting  under  the  Japanese  cherry 
tree? 

June.  [Laughs.]  Joe,  Harold  Webster 
is  waiting. 

Man.    Tell  her,  her  game  was  bully. 

Joe.  [Laughs,  puts  hand  impulsively  to 
pin  in  her  waist.  Sue  notices  gesture.] 
I'm  coming. 

Sue.  Joe,  a  f rat  pin !  Girls,  girls,  three 
cheers  for  Captain  Joe! 

[Girls  grab  flowers  from  vases  and 
pelt  Joe  with  them,  as  she  is  raised 
up  to  sit  on  the  crossed  hands  of 
two  of  the  team  girls.  Joe  laughs 
merrily,  as  she  is  cheered.] 

CURTAIN. 


89 


BETTY'S    DEGREE 


CAST   OF   CHARACTERS. 


Betty  Clifton, 

Dolly  Howitt^  her  best  friend. 

Janet  Mackay, 

Agnes  Benton, 

Grace  Weatherby, 

Blanch  Smith, 

Edna  Lost, 

Mary  Foster, 

A  Maid,                                       ^ 

>•  The  Se 

Persons  Mentioned. 

Tom  Brummel. 

Dick  Austen. 

Harry  Young. 

Dr.  Sike,  Professor  of  Psychology. 
Dr.  Richards,  Professor  of  Economics. 

Place. 

A  College  in  the  East. 

Time. 

Spring. 

Flays  forty-five  minutes. 


92 


BETTY'S   DEGREE. 


ACT  I, 


Scene.  The  student's  sitting  room;  book- 
cases, couch,  comfortable  chairs,  table 
with  student's  lamp,  papers,  telephone, 
etc.  Two  big  signs  hang  bach  center, — 
*'Silence",  and  ''Beware  of  final  Ex- 
ams". Evening  in  Spring,  a  week  be- 
fore Commencement.  Janet  Mackay 
writing  at  table.  Agnes  Benton  reading 
in  easy  chair.  Grace  Weatherby  hud- 
dled in  corner  of  couch,  grinding.  Blanch 
Smith  scanning  books  in  book-cases.  Af- 
ter curtain  has  risen  there  is  a  long 
silence  to  be  sustained  by  pantomime  to 
convey  atmosphere  of  serious  study. 

^LANCH.  Has  anybody  seen  the  library 
copy  of  Henry  James's  Psychology? 

Janet  and  Geace.    Ssh!! 

Agnes.  You  won't  find  that  book  in 
there  to-night,  thirteen  hours  before  the 
big  psych  final.  I  am  going  to  be  decapi- 
tated to-morrow  in  that  exam ;  when  I  have 
flunked  you  can  bury  me  beneath  the  sod 
and  for  an  epitaph  write,  ''Here  lieth  the 

93 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

bones  of  Agnes  Benton,  who,  slaughtered 
on  the  field  of  an  intellectual  battle,  suf- 
fereth  torment;  would  that  she  had  made 
studying  a  habit  rather  than  an  excep- 
tion". 

Grace.  Are  you  reading  the  chapter  on 
''Habit"? 

Agnes.  Yes,  but  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  I  am  very  unhappy;  wish  I  had 
never  come  to  college.  If  I  were  only  at 
home  now  on  the  ranch  I  could  be — 

■  Janet.  Hush  up!  Don't  be  garrulous; 
remember  the  exams.  I  am  trying  to  learn 
how  many  ''me's"  I  have. 

Blanch.  [Sitting  at  table  opposite  to 
Janet.]  That  is  just  the  chapter  on  "Self" 
I  want  to  look  up.    What  is  the  "  I "  ? 

Janet.  The  "I",  the  capital  letter  I,  is 
you. 

fi^^f)^^ Blanch.    The  "I"  is  me. 

Janet.    No,  the  "I"  isn't  "me". 

Blanch.    Of  course  it  isn't  you,  it's  me. 

Agnes.  Bosh,  what  nonsense !  It 's  fin- 
als this  and  finals  that,  until  I  don't  know 
"where  I'm  at". 

94 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Janet.    "WTiat  I  said  was  absolutely  cor- 
rect.   Ask  the  grind.     Grace! 

Gkace   [Looks  up  confused.]     Did  you 
speak  to  rae? 

Janet.  Explain  the  ''Self*  to  Blanch. 
'Grace.  It's  here  at  the  beginning  of  the 
chapter.  [Reads.]  ''Whatever  I  may  be 
thinking  of,  I  am  always  at  the  same  time 
more  or  less  aware  of  myself,  of  my  per- 
sonal existence.  At  the  same  time  it  is  I 
who  am  aware". 

Janet.    That  is  what  I  said.     The  "I'* 
is  the  knower  and  the  "Me"  the  known. 
Blanch.    "I"  knows  "me". 

Agnes.    You  knows  you. 

Janet.    We  knows  us. 

Blanch.  I  wish  I  had  begun  to  study  at 
the  beginning  of  the  course. 

Agnes.    And  made  it  a  habit. 

jJTanet.  Don't  interrupt  with  your  hab- 
its; w  are  discussing  "self".  Go  on, 
Grace. 

Grace.  "Subdivision  of  'me's':  ma- 
terial me,  social  and  spiritual  me".  Me 
material — 


95 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Blanch.  Wait,  you  are  going  too  fast; 
what  did  you  say? 

Janet.    Hush  up! 

Blanch.    Honestly,  Janet,  I  must  pass 
that  exam  to-morrow.    I  don 't  need  a  high    '     , 
mark  but  at  the  close  of  senior  year  one  .j"*^ 
must  be  able  to  clutch  a  degree.  ■"' 

Agnes.  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  pass  well 
to-morrow,  if  the  mere  presence  of  Dr. 
Siike  didn't  petrify  me. 

Janet.    He  is  dreadfully  severe. 

Blanch.     [Looking  over  Graced sTshoul- 
der.]  '  Let  me  see  it  written. 
[Pause    of    intense    study — Enter    Dolly 

Howitt.] 
[Worried.]     Have     you     seen 

No,  why,  what  is  the  matter? 
She  can't  get  her  degree. 
What!!! 

I  found  it  out  to-day,  she 
doesn't  know  it  yet.  I  don't  know  how  to 
tell  her. 

Janet.  Betty  Clifton  lose  her  degree 
when  she  has  scored  so  many  high  marks  I 

96 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

She  is  too  brilliant.  There  isn't  a  girl  in 
college  that  can  study  so  little  and  cram 
so  well. 

Dolly.  That  is  her  ruin.  Betty  has  cut 
lectures  to  go  to  town  on  flirtations  just 
several  times  too  often.  She  took  luncheon 
with  Tom  to-day  and  so  asked  me  to  have 
Dr.  Sike  sign  her  course-book;  he  refused. 

Blanch.     Refused  to  sign  because  she 
"cuts  so  much!    0,  dear,  I  hope  he  doesn't 
flunk  me  to-morrow. 

Janet.    [To  Dolly.]    What  did  you  do  I 

Dolly.  Plead  and  almost  wept,  but 
gained  nothing.  He  agreed  with  me  when 
I  said  that  Betty  always  made  high  marks 
on  her  quiz  papers,  but  added  that  he 
could  have  no  patience  with  a  girl  who 
crammed.  He  seemed  to  take  her  frequent 
cutting  almost  as  a  personal  offence. 

Gtiace.  Don't  you  see  Dr.  Sike's  view- 
point? That  Bettey  may  remember  for  a 
day  what  she  has  crammed  the  night  be- 
fore, but  that  it  is  a  psychological  impos- 
sibility for  her  to  have  assimilated  all  that 
knowledge  and  made  it  her  own  as  we  have 
who  have  kept  our  thoughts  steadily  on 
the  subject. 

97 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Janet.  Though  you  are  a  grind,  Grace, 
Betty  has  sometimes  made  higher  marks 
than  you.    How  do  you  explain  that? 

Grace.  Easily;  she  crams  only  the  es- 
sential facts  and  so  in  writing  a  paper  is 
not  delayed  as  we  are  in  describing  de- 
tails. AVhile  we  are  wondering  just  what 
details  we  should  use,  Betty  is  dashing  off 
main  facts  in  her  inimitably  charming  and 
brilliant  style. 

Agnes.  If  she  could  make  a  high  credit 
in  that  exam  to-morrow  don't  you  suppose 
Dr.  Sike  would  relent? 

Dolly.  That  is  one  hope.  I  have  just 
had  a  talk  with  Professor  Eichards  who 
came  to  call  on  Betty  because  he  had  heard 
about  it  and  wanted  to  encourage  her. 

Agnes.  Dear  adorable  Professor  Eich- 
ards in  this  Hall  and  I  not  know  it?  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me?  I'd  give  anything  to 
have  him  call  on  me. 

Blanch.  Mr.  Eichards  is  the  best  look- 
ing man  in  the  faculty. 

Agnes.  He  is  the  best  looking  man  I 
have  ever  met.  It's  a  shame  to  put  a  man 
like  that  in  a  girl's  college  and  then  for- 

98 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

bid  social  engagements.    I  never  saw  such 
blue  eyes. 

Dolly.  Aren't  they  glorious?  Big, 
deep  blue  and  brilliant,  as  if  they  were  al- 
ways smiling,  no  matter  how  hard  he  is 
trying  to  appear  grave. 

Agnes.  His  grave  manner  irritates  me 
for  I  always  feel  as  if  he  were  really  anx- 
ious to  have  a  good  time  but  didn't  dare. 

Grace.  He  must  pretend  the  dignity  of 
a  professor  to  keep  his  position. 

Janet.  My  brother  who  knew  him  at 
Yale  said  he  was  quite  the  hero  in  his 
class ;  jumped  into  the  water  to  save  some 
girl  who  fell  in;  I  don't  remember  the  cir- 
cumstances, but  it  was  something  roman- 
tic and  heroic. 

Agnes.  0,  Janet,  do  find  out  the  details ; 
it  must  have  been  very  heroic.  He  looks 
so  capable  of  something  great  and  big.  I 
wish  we  had  a  pond  here.  I'd  try  the 
stunt  myself.  Honestly  girls,  I  think  I  am 
in  love  with  him. 

Dolly.    I  am  wild  about  his  course. 
Agnes.     About  him,  you  mean.     Who 
could  resist  those  clean  cut  features? 

99 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Geace.  Why  did  he  take  the  trouble  to 
call  on  Betty? 

Dolly.  Wasn't  it  queer?  For  it  doesn't 
in  the  least  concern  him.  He  said  he  had 
heard  me  discussing  the  matter  with  some 
of  the  girls  this  afternoon,  and  wanted  to 
tell  Betty  to  work  for  a  high  mark  in  the 
Sike  exam. 

Geace.  Did  he  think  that  would  make 
Dr.  Sike  sign  the  course-book? 

Dolly.  He  said  there  was  a  bare  possi- 
bility of  it. 

Agnes.  There  isn't  another  professor 
who  would  take  such  interest  in  a  matter 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  course. 

Blanch.    Don't  forget  it  was  for  Betty. 

Agnes.  Do  you  think  he  is  crazy  about 
her? 

Blanch.  I  am  only  trying  to  guess. 
Didn't  he  complain  that  she  had  cut  his 
course  too  often? 

Dolly.  Evidently  not;  he  said  he  had 
no  cause  personally  to  complain  about  her 
attendance.  I  don't  see  how  I  am  going 
to  find  the  courage  to  break  the  news  to 
Betty. 

100 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

{Enter  maid  with  card.'] 

Maid.  Miss  Clifton?  Gentleman  to  see 
her. 

Dolly.  I'll  take  it.  Mr.  Richard  Aus- 
ten {To  girls.']  to  see  Betty.  {To  maid.] 
Tell  him  to  wait.     {Exit  maid.] 

Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  The 
night  before  a  final  exam  a  week  before 
commencement,  Betty  Clifton  has  a  caller. 
If  she  were  here  she  would  entertain  him 
until  he  was  made  to  leave  the  building 
when  the  doors  are  locked.  She  would 
never  dream  of  refusing  him;  worse  yet, 
she  is  now  in  town  with  Tom  Brummel, 
beau  number  one. 

Janet.  If  Betty  loses  her  degree,  it  is 
the  fault  of  the  three  men  who  haunt  her. 
She'd  get  H.  C.  in  a  course  on  coquetry. 

Dolly.  {Sinks  worried  into  chair.] 
I  ought  to  be  working  this  very  minute 
myself,  but  I  cannot  settle  down  when 
Betty  keeps  me  in  such  hot  water.  One  day 
she  seems  to  care  most  for  Tom,  the  next 
for  Dick  and  after  that  for  Harry.  When 
I  tell  her  she  is  trifling  with  their  affec- 
tions she  only  laughs  and  says  they  under- 

101 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

stand  one  another  perfectly,  so  perfectly 
that  they  cannot  he  serious. 

Agnes.  Then  the  men  will  not  admit 
their  serious  intentions?  Men  don't  usu- 
ually  rush  a  girl  with  such  extravagance 
unless  they  entertain  some  hope  of  a  seri- 
ous chance  in  the  future. 

Dolly.  That  is  what  worries  me.  Betty 
is  so  young  and  irresponsible  she  doesn't 
foresee  how  unpleasant  it  is  going  to  be 
when  she  begins  to  turn  them  down.  She 
cannot  marry  all  of  them.  I  am  going  to 
give  [Looks  at  card]  Dick  Austen  a  bit  of 
warning. 

Janet.    How  are  you  going  to  say  it? 

Dolly.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  task  but  I 
feel  it  my  moral  duty.  [Squares  her 
shoulders  as  if  to  gain  courage  and  starts 
out.]    It  takes  courage.     [Exit.] 

Agnes.  Dolly  is  making  a  mistake  by 
meddling  in  Betty's  love  affairs.  Why  not 
let  Betty  flirt  if  she  enjoys  it? 

Blanch.  It  isn't  fair  to  keep  them  all 
guessing  and  each  fellow  believing  he  is 
the  favored  one.  She  expected  to  be  back 
at  college  this  afternoon  after  she  had  had 

102 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

luncheon  with  Tom,  but  at  five  o'clock  she 
telephoned  for  a  chaperone.    Not  back  yet. 

Grace.    Perhaps  she  has  accepted  Tom. 

Agnes.  How  thrilling  if  she  has.  Then 
we  are  in  on  some  of  the  automobile  trips. 
He  has  loads  of  money  and  everything 
from  phonographs  to  yachts. 

Janet.  Tom  Brummel  is  too  full  of 
sport  for  Betty.  Betty  has  enough  of  that 
for  two.     She  needs  restraint. 

Blanch.  Well,  Dick  Austen  could  give 
her  that.  He  is  very  firm  and  always  gets 
his  own  way.  He  is  the  only  person  I  have 
ever  seen  Betty  mind.  When  Dick  says 
the  moon  is  the  sun  Betty,  usually  so  con- 
trary, agrees  without  a  murmur  and  is  just 
as  likely  as  not  to  walk  out  at  night  with 
a  parasol  open  to  keep  her  face  from 
freckling. 

Agnes.  There  seems  to  be  a  kind  of 
magnetism  even  in  his  silence.  I  sat  next 
to  him  at  a  dinner  once  and  wondered  why 
I  wasn't  bored. 

Blanch.  By  the  time  the  salad  was 
served  I  wager  you  had  confessed  all  your 
secrets. 

103 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Agnes.  I  had.  He  just  leans  back,  looks 
at  you  and  asks  you  a  question,  the  kind 
that  always  winds  a  girl  up.  When  I  had 
exhausted  one  subject,  he  started  me  on 
another  until  at  length  I  found  myself 
tongue  deep  in  explanations. 

Janet.  They  say  he  promises  quite  a 
career  as  a  lawj^er. 

GrRACE.  Do  you  think  Betty  would  marry 
him? 

Janet.  I  hope  not;  he  has  too  quieting 
an  effect  on  her;  she  seems  to  lose  all  her 
sparkle  when  with  him. 

Blanch.  Tom  is  too  frivolous  and  Dick 
too  serious,  but  Harry  is  dear.  He  adores 
Betty. 

Janet.  An  overgrown  boy;  boyishly 
good  looking,  no  money,  too  good-natured 
ever  to  have  prospects;  if  Betty  married 
Harry  they  would  keep  house  like  children, 
living  on  fudge  and  maple  ice-cream. 

Agnes.  My  intuition  tells  me  that  Betty 
accepted  Tom  to-day. 

[Enter  Dolly.] 

Blanch.    How  did  you  tell  him? 

104 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Dolly.  I  came  right  to  the  point,  said 
I  was  sorry  but  I  felt  I  ought  to  tell  him 
that  Betty  didn't  know  her  own  mind  and 
that  I  thought  he  was  making  a  great  mis- 
take not  to  discover  where  he  actually 
stood  in  her  regard. 

Agnes.    What  did  he  say? 

Dolly.  Nothing.  Dick  never  says  any- 
thing. He  just  looked  sort  of  queer,  took 
up  his  hat,  shook  hands  with  me,  thanked 
me  for  my  interest  and  went  out.  I  feel 
better  now  that  it  is  over.  I  am  going  to 
tell  Tom  and  Harry  the  same  thing. 

[Bell  tolls  nine  times.'] 

Agnes.  Horrors!  Only  twelve  more 
hours  before  that  exam !  Girls  we  are  los- 
ing time.    \^Studies.'] 

Janet.  [Reading.']  "The  Perceptive 
State  of  Mind  is  not  a  Compound.  The 
thing  perceived  is  the  object  of  a  unique 
state  of  thought;  due  no  doubt  in  part  to 
sensational,  and  in  part  to  idealistic  cur- 
rents, but  in  no  wise  containing  psychically 
the  identical  sensations  and  images  which 
these     currents     would     severally     have 

105 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

aroused  if  the  others  were  not  simultane- 
ously there". 

{Mutters  to  herself.'] 

Grace.  {Explaining  to  Blanch.']  You 
see  your  body  is  the  material  "me"  in 
you.  I  have  it  tabulated  here.  Self-ap- 
preciation— 

Janet.  Emotion — emotion — emotion — 
{Repeats  ivord  comically.] 

Agnes.  Well,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you? 

Janet.  {Seriously.]  It  says  here  that 
words  lose  their  significance  when  repeated 
often.  I  was  verifying  the  fact.  Say 
emotion  a  dozen  times  listening  only  to 
the  sound  and  it  might  as  well  be  Greek. 
Emotion — emotion — 

Blanch.     Emotion — emotion — 
{They  all  repeat  the  tvord  with  different 
inflections  and  with  different  speed.] 

Agnes.     {At  length.]     Stop  it,  stop  it,  it 
sounds  like  mush.     I  never  want  to  hear 
the  word  again. 
{Enter  maid  with  pitcher  of  milk,  glasses 

and  plate  of  crackers,  ivhich  she  places 

on  table.    Exit] 

106 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Janet.    Milk  lunch !  I  am  starved.    Fif- 
teen minutes  for  recreation,  girls,  and  then 
for  the  final  grind.     [Eats.] 
[Enter  Mary  Foster  and  Edna  Lost  and 
more  girls  if  convenient.] 

Mary.  [Wears  kimona,  looks  tired,] 
What  kind  of  crackers  to-night!  Gra- 
ham, good! 

Edna.  Have  you  all  been  working 
in  here? 

Janet.    Since  dinner  time. 

Edna.  You  all  take  Psychology,  to- 
morrow, don't  you?    I  have  Math. 

Agnes.  You  look  worn  out,  you  work 
too  much. 

Edna.  Well,  what  am  I  to  do  when  I 
have  four  exams  four  days  straight.  I 
haven't  taken  off  this  dress  for  two  days. 
This  is  the  worst  college  in  the  country. 

Agnes.  [To  Mary.]  Exams  only  ruin 
her  disposition  temporarily. 

Edna.     [To  Grace.]     Suppose  you  have 
been  grinding  like  an  ax,  too.    What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  your  degree?    Meas- 
ly bit  of  paper  after  all  this  fuss  and  non- 
107 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

sense  for  four  years.  Don't  know  what 
ever  brought  me  here. 

Geace.    I  must  teach  next  year. 

Edna.  You'd  think  I  had  to  by  the  way 
I  am  working;  family  were  against  my 
coming.  Wish  I  hadn't  come;  didn't  have 
to. 

Grace.  You  are  fortunate  to  be  able  to 
feel  that  your  future  life  is  not  dependent 
upon  the  getting  of  your  A.  B.  Degree. 
It  means  bread  and  butter  to  me. 

Blanch.  [To  Edna.]  I  suppose  you 
know  all  about  your  Math,  you  are  almost 
a  grind. 

Edna.  Haven't  begun  to  look  at  it  yet, 
haven 't  begun !  Don 't  know  a  thing  about 
the  subject,  couldn't  tell  you  if  I  tried.  I 
am  going  to  flunk. 

Janet.  No,  you  are  not,  you  never  do. 
You  study  more  than  any  of  us. 

Edna.  0,  my  dear,  I  don't,  positively. 
You  burn  your  light  until  one  every  morn- 
ing. 

Janet.  0,  my  dear,  I  don't,  I  hardly 
ever  study  at  night. 

108 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

[Enter  Betty — very  well  dressed  in 
street  suit,  jaunty  hat,  veil,  gloves, 
wears  big  hunch  of  flowers.] 

Janet.    Hello  Betty,  back  at  last? 

Betty.  Better  late  than  never.  How 
are  you  all?  Gloomy?  [Shivers.]  The  at- 
mosphere is  blue.  You  freeze  my  soul. 
[Laughs.] 

Dolly.  Thought  you  were  never  com- 
ing. 

Blanch.  Began  to  think  you  had  run 
away  with  Tom. 

Betty.  Looks  as  if  I  had — almost, 
doesn't  it?  0,  we  had  the  best  time! 
[Takes  off  gloves.] 

Dolly.    Did  Tom  come  with  you? 

Betty.  Yes,  he  is  down  stairs  waiting 
for  me  to  come  back.  I  ran  up  to  let  you 
see  I  had  actually  returned. 

Dolly.  [To  Blanch.]  This  is  my 
chance  to  warn  Tom.     [Exit.] 

Betty.  We  had  luncheon  at  the  ''Brass 
Kettle"  in  town  and  went  to  a  vaudeville; 
then  Tom  insisted  upon  my  dining  with 
him  at  the  hotel  so  I  sent  for  a  chaperone ; 

109 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Miss  Kay  was  tickled  to  death  from  the 
oyster  cock-tails  to  the  baked  ice-cream. 
Then  Tom  motored  us  back  to  college.  It's 
a  glorious  night,  girls,  the  biggest,  biggest 
moon! 

Agnes.    Want  some  milkl 

Betty.  No  thanks,  not  after  that  feast 
at  the  hotel.  No  cow  crackers,  thank  you. 
I  wish  you  could  have  been  with  us,  that 
dinner  was  so  good.  It  would  have  made 
you  feel  like  living.  You  all  grind  too 
much  in  your  efforts  to  grab  a  little  harm- 
less degree ; — forget  that  you  are  living  in 
your  mad  attempts  to  stuff  your  brains 
with  a  mass  of  details  that  you  will  forget 
in  a  week. 

Janet.  You  are  fortunate  to  be  such  a 
brilliant  crammer. 

Betty.  Fiddle-sticks;  I  am  too  lazy  to 
do  more  work  than  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary. 

Mary.  Come  on,  Edna,  we  must  go  back 
to  that  Math. 

Agnes.    And  I  to  my  psych. 
Betty.    I,  too,  after  Tom  has  gone.    I 
shall  then  retire  to  my  room,  hang  out  an 

110 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

engaged  sign,  take  some  cold  tea,  fasten  a 
towel  about  my  throbbing  temples,  stick 
my  feet  in  ice-water.     {Laughs.'] 

[Enter  Dolly.'] 

Dolly.    Tom  has  gone. 

Betty.    Gone?    He  said  he  would  wait. 

Dolly.  I  saw  him  in  the  drawing-room 
as  I  passed  by,  and  told  him  that  as  you 
had  an  exam  to  work  for,  he  had  better  go 
as  I  knew  you  couldn't  resist  his  company 
of  your  own  accord. 

Betty.  Dolly,  you  little  villain!  Did 
he  go  reluctantly  f 

Dolly.    Very. 

Betty.  [Laug'hs.]  Sweet  flowers? 
Smell  them,  the  biggest  bunch  he  could 
buy. 

Dolly.  Betty,  I  don't  know  how  to  tell 
you — but — but — Dr.  Sike  refused  to  sign 
your  course-book  to-day. 

Betty.  Dr.  Sike — refused — refused — 
why? 

Dolly.    Too  much  cutting. 

Betty.     Did  I  cut — as  much  as — that? 


Ill 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

But  it  means  my  degree.     I'll  go  right 
over  to  Dr.  Sike  and  tell  him  I — 

Dolly.  You  cannot  plead  with  him. 
Professor  Richards  came  to  call  on  you 
this  evening. 

Betty.    Professor  Richards! 

Dolly.  He  thought  that  if  you  could 
make  a  high  mark  in  the  Sike  exam  Dr. 
Sike  might  relent. 

Betty.  Professor  Richards  called  on 
me,  poor  little  me?    How  good  of  him. 

Dolly.    I  was  surprised  at  his  interest. 

Betty.    Were  you? 

Dolly.  He  seemed  to  feel  quite  sad  for 
your  sake. 

Betty.  [^Picking  petals  from  flowers.] 
Did  he? 

Dolly,  He  said  you  had  a  brilliant 
mind. 

Betty.    Yes  ? 

Dolly.  And  that  it  would  be  a  pity  for 
you  to  lose  your  degree  on  the  mere  tech- 
nicality of  attendance.  That  you  had  done 
such  satisfactory  work  in  his  course  that 
he  could  find  no  cause  to  complain. 

112 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Betty.    Does  he  really  think  I  am  bril- 
liant?   Did  he  really  say  so? 
Dolly.    He  did. 

Betty.  With  that  same  old  twinkle  in 
his  eye  ?  As  if  he  were  smiling  at  his  own 
youth — and  ours — and  wondering  if — 

Dolly.    If  what? 

Betty.     [Evasiveli/.]     0,  nothing. 

Dolly.  Betty,  why  did  he  come?  Have 
you  been  flirting  with  him  as  you  have 
with  Tom? 

Betty.  Flirt  with  a  professor?  No, 
[Half  serious,  half  playful.]  not  with — a 
professor. 

Dolly.    But  to  come  to-night. 

Betty.  It  was  very  generous  of  him; 
no  motive  but  his  generosity. 

Dolly.  How  much  of  your  phychology 
have  you  studied? 

Betty.  Not  much.  I'll  go  right  to  my 
room  and  grind.     [Exit.] 

Agnes.  [Looking  up  from  hook.]  I 
don't  envy  Betty  beginning  to  cram  at  this 
late  date,  not  much  time  left  before  the 
massacre. 


113 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Blanch.    I've  gotten  to  emotion — emo- 
tion— 
Agnes.    Ssh ! ! 

{Enter  Maid.] 

Maid.  [With  card.]  Gentleman  to  see 
Miss  Clifton. 

Dolly.  I'll  take  the  card.  Mr.  Harry 
Yonng.  Beau  number  three.  [Maid  takes 
out  glasses.]  He  is  rather  late  in  his  call, 
perhaps  he  has  heard  about  the  course- 
book  from  his  sister.  Well,  girls,  wish  me 
success.  Poor  Harry,  I  hate  to  tell  him 
but  it  is  for  his  own  good.  Betty  could 
never  marry  him.     [Exit.] 

Janet.    Dolly  is  wasting  time. 

Blanch.  [Preoccupied.]  The  coarser 
emotions  are  made  up  of  [Enumerating 
on  fingers.]  love,  hate,  joy — love;  shame, 
grief — love ;  love — pride — fear — and — and 
— love — anger — love — and — its  varieties. 

Betty.  [Enter,  hat  and  coat  off,  sleeves 
rolled  up,  looking  ready  for  work,  pile  of 
books  in  arm.]  I  never  can  learn  it,  never, 
never ;  there  are  pages  and  pages  that  have 
no  sense.     Where  is  Dolly?     I  just  sud- 

114 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

denly  realized  what  it  would  mean  to  lose 
my  degree.  After  I  have  worked  for  it 
four  years.  My  friends  at  home,  the  boys, 
what  will  they  say!  And  my  family,  my 
father.  I  can't  lose  it.  [To  Dolly  ivJio  has 
just  entered.]  I  can't  possibly  make  an 
H.  C.  in  the  exam  to-morrow;  what  shall  I 
do? 

Janet.  Perhaps  we  can  help  you.  I 
know  the  chapter  on  '^Discrimination'* 
best,  so  offer  to  coach  you  in  that. 

Betty.  0,  thanks,  no,  I  couldn't  take 
up  your  time  when  it  is  so  valuable  to  you, 
just  because  I  have  been  frivolous  and 
light  hearted. 

Janet.  It  will  do  me  good  to  rehearse 
the  chapter  aloud. 

Agnes.     I'll  coach  you  in  ''attention". 

Dolly.  I'll  teach  you  the  "stream  of 
consciousness"  and  Grace  knows  all  about 
the  "self".  Sit  down  there  Betty  and 
we'll  take  you  in  turn. 

Betty.  If  you  get  me  through  I'll  give 
you  anything  you  want  even  a  dinner  in 
town  beginning  with  oyster  cock-tails. 

Grace.     [To  girls.]     You    see   psycho- 

115 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

logically   speaking,   Betty's   "social   me'* 
is  upi^ermost. 

Betty.  My  "me"?  0,  yes,  I  remember 
all  that  chapter,  remember  reading  it  on 
the  train  a  few  months  ago  when  I  was 
going  to  meet  Dick  in  town.  I  am  the  big 
"I"  and  here  are  all  my  little  "me's"  ma- 
terial, social,  spiritual — 

Agnes.  How  did  you  remember  all 
that! 

Betty.  0,  because  Dick  didn't  admire 
my  new  hat  that  day  and  so  my  ' '  material 
me"  felt  hurt. 

Grace.  I'll  use  that  incident  as  a  point 
for  the  exam. 

Betty.  Don't  you  apply  all  the  things 
you  learn  to  your  own  life  ?  Dear  me,  what 
is  the  use  of  learning  things  if  you  can't 
use  them  to  show  people  how  smart  you 
really  are. 

Janet.  [To  Agnes.]  That  is  Betty's 
"social  me"  talking. 

Blanch.  What  do  you  know  about  emo- 
tion, Betty? 


1 


•^  n 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Betty.  Everything  and  notliing,  noth- 
ing by  that  book.    Come,  tell  me. 

[Girls  return  to  their  studying.  Betty 
and  Blanch  curl  upon  couch,  one  in 
each  corner.l 
Janet.  Let  ns  know  when  you  are  ready 
for  our  wisdom. 

Agnes.    And  please  study  in  a  whisper. 

[Pause  while  Blanch  turns  pages  of  hook 
to  find  place] 

Blanch.  [In  whisper.]  What  is  emo- 
tion, Betty. 

Betty.  [Puckers  broiv.]  Emotion? 
Well,  I  fancy  you  would  call  it  a — a — a — 
0,  the  dickens,  what  do  you  call  it? 

Blanch.    "Tendency  to  feeV\ 

Betty.  Of  course,  how  stupid  of  me. 
[Pinches  herself.]  Ouch,  I  feel — emotion, 
I've  got  it,  go  on. 

Blanch.  Name  some  of  the  coarser 
emotions. 

Betty.     [Hesitatingly.]     Well,  I  should 
say.    I  should  say — 
[Bell  tolls  10,  which  Betty  counts  softly.] 

Agnes.    Eleven  more  hours  before  the 

massacre. 

117 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Blanch.    The  coarser  emotions — ^well — 
Betty.     Well — 
Blanch.    Well — 

Betty,    Well,  I  guess  maybe — love  is,  is 
it? 

Curtain. 


118 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 


ACT  II. 

Scene.     Same.    A  few  days  later.     Girls 
standing  in  groups  waiting  for  the  mail. 

Agnes.  Why  doesn't  the  mail  cornel 
I  haven't  had  a  letter  from  home  for  days; 
they  might  know  I  was  dying  of  unhappi- 
ness  during  these  beastly  finals. 

Blanch.  Do  you  suppose  there  will  be 
any  flunk  notes  in  the  mail  bag?  After 
that  fiendish  Sike  exam  I  lived  in  mortal 
terror  of  receiving  one  of  those  dainty 
white  envelopes  with  the  college  name  in 
red  letters  on  the  corner,  and  inside  a  no- 
tice that  I  had  flunked. 

Gkace.    What  mark  did  you  get? 
Blanch.     Only  a  ''passed"  but  that  is 
all  I  needed  to  get  my  degree. 

Grace.    I  got  H.  C. 

Blanch.  Good  for  you.  It  would  have 
been  a  pity  though  for  you  to  get  less  af- 
ter studying  so  hard. 

Grace.  My  dear,  I  never  study  at  all; 
really,  I  don't  see  how  I  got  the  mark  be- 
cause I  hadn't  an  idea  about  the  subject. 

119 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Janet.  [Aside  to  Blanch.]  Naturally 
brillant,  you  know  (sarcasm)  doesn't 
know  a  thing. 

Grace.  [To  Janet.]  You  got  a  merit, 
didn't  you? 

Janet.  I  don't  know  how  I  did  it,  I 
hadn't  any  time  to  study  for  the  exam. 

Grace.  [To  Betty.]  How  you  do  things 
on  bluff  I  cannot  understand.  You  didn't 
even  know  what  an  emotion  was  the  night 
before  and  the  next  day  you  wrote  a  paper 
that  scored  an  H.  C.    How  do  you  do  it? 

Betty.    Experience. 

Grace.  But  Dr.  Sike  still  refuses  to  sign 
your  course-book,  doesn't  he? 

Betty.  He  says  he  cannot  change  his 
mind.  Professor  Richards  suggested  I  pe- 
tition the  faculty  to  give  me  my  degree 
anyway. 

Grace.  Mr.  Richards  seems  interested 
in  the  ease. 

Betty.  He  was  good  enough  to  frame  a 
petition  for  me. 

Grace.  Does  he  think  it  will  be  granted? 

120 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Betty.  He  doesn't  know.  I  am  dread- 
fully worried.  AYliy  doesn't  that  mail 
come,  I  expect  the  answer  to-day. 

Agnes.  [To  Mary.l  I  hope  Betty 
won't  lose  her  degree.  She  has  worried 
so  these  last  few  days  that  you  would  not 
know  her  for  the  same  old  Betty. 

{Enter  Dolly  with  hag  which  she  opens; 
distributes  mail.'] 

Dolly.  Here  it  is  at  last,  have  you  all 
been  impatient. 

Blanch,  Don't  give  us  any  flunk  notes, 
Dolly. 

Agnes.  If  there  are  any,  hide  them 
from  the  public  gaze. 

Dolly.     Letters  for  Grace  Weatherby, 

Janet  Mackay,  Mary  Foster. 

[Mary  receives  two  letters,  one  of  which 
Dolly  had  slipped  under  the  other;  she 
looks  at  them,  starts,  grows  confused, 
controls  herself,  pretends  delight.']  A 
letter  from  home !  [As  she  goes  out  de- 
spair is  written  on  her  face.] 

Blanch.  [Looking  after  her.]  I  think 
I  saw  a  flunk  note.  Dolly,  did  Mary  flunk! 

121 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Dolly.  [Looking  straight  at  Blanch.] 
I  don't  read  post-marks, 

Edna.    No  letter  for  me? 

Dolly.    Not  yet.    Betty — 

Betty.  Is  tliere  one  from  the  faculty? 
[Takes  three  letters.]  No.  Why  don't 
they  hurry  and  put  me  out  of  misery. 
What  is  this?  [Retires  down  stage  open- 
ing letter.]     Tom! 

Dolly.  That  is  all  the  mail  for  you, 
girls. 

Edna.    Not  one  for  me,  shoot  it.   [Exit.] 
[Girls  stroll  off  reading  their  mail.    Dolly 
takes  up  pile  she  has  sorted  on  the  ta- 
ble and  starts  off.] 

Agnes.  I'll  help  you  distribute  the  mail 
in  the  rooms,  Dolly. 

Dolly.    Thanks.     [Exit  all  hut  Betty.] 

Betty.  [Puzzled.]  Tom,  I  don't  un- 
derstand. [Reads  fragments  from  let- 
ter.] "We  have  always  been  great  com- 
rades and  you  have  never  given  me  reason 
to  believe  that  you  cared  for  me  in  any 
way  but  that  of  friendship.  I  have  spent 
two  delightful  years  trying  to  give  you  all 

122 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

the  fun  my  car  and  yaclit  offer,  claiming 
your  mere  enthusiastic  joy  as  recompense. 
I  did  not  dream  of  asking  more;  but  I 
went  home  the  night  of  our  jaunt  in  town, 
wondering  why  many  things  were  as  they 
are  and  why  some  things  could  not  be  as 
we  wish  them.  Let  us  be  serious,  let 
us — "  [Disappointed.]  0,  Tom,  why  did 
you  spoil  it  alH  Could  I,  do  I,  would  I, 
shall  I?  I  haven't  thought.  He  must 
wait.  [Takes  up  second  letter.]  Dick!! 
[Reads.]  Abrupt  as  usual!  He  always 
takes  my  breath  away.  "I  am  asking  you 
to  marry  me  and  will  take  no  refusal". 
[Laughs.]  How  absurd!  Yet,  I — I — 
might.  "We've  never  been  serious  in  that 
way.  [Glances  at  third  letter.]  How 
strange,  this  looks  like  Harry's  handwrit- 
ing. [Opens  letter.]  It  is.  How  fool- 
ish ! !  You  dear  big  boy,  who  put  that  idea 
into  your  head!  I  couldn't  marry  you. 
Do  be  sensible.  [Enter  Dolly.]  Dolly, 
come  here. 

Dolly.    Letters  from  home? 

Betty.    No,  but  read  this  and  this  and 
this. 


123 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Dolly.  [Glances  at  one  letter,  then 
pushes  it  aivay.]  I — I — can't  read  a  let- 
ter like  that,  not  when  a  man  is  so  serious. 

Betty.  Not  really  serious,  Dolly.  It 
looks  as  if  they  were  plotting  to  tease  me. 
Only  I  wish  they  hadn't  made  me  think. 

Dolly.  No  man  plays  a  joke — [Points 
to  letter.] — like  that.  Betty,  is  there  one 
you  like  the  best  ? 

Betty.     They  were  all  my  friends  and 


now — 

Dolly. 
pent? 

Which  one  are  you  going  to  ac- 

Betty. 

' Startled  at  the  boldness  of  the 

question.] 

Dolly! 

Dolly. 

Don't  these  require  an  answer? 

Betty. 

I  can   laugh  them   off. 

DOTJ.Y. 

'Seriously.]     Do  you  want  to? 

Betty. 

Perhaps — ^not. 

Dolly. 

Give  them  up. 

Betty. 

0,  no. 

Dolly. 

Well,  then,  which  one? 

Betty. 

I  don't  know.     There's  Tom.  I 

am  very  fond  of  Tom.     He  is  witty,  good- 

124 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

natured,  interested  in    everything,    loves 
racing.     He  is  enthusiastic — 

Dolly.  Has  loads  of  money,  an  auto- 
mohile,  yacht,  pianola,  phonograph — 

Betty.  A  girl  ought  not  to  marry  a 
man  who  cannot  give  her  what  she  has 
been  accustomed  to. 

Dolly.  You  have  never  had  a  yacht  or 
an  automobile. 

Betty.  No,  but  you  see  Tom  has 
spoiled  me  with  his.  I  really  adore  Tom, 
Dolly,  honest. 

Dolly.     Then  I  would  marry  Tom. 

Betty.  But  what  would  become  of 
Dick? 

Dolly.     That  is  true,  there  is  Dick. 

Betty.  He  is  a  splendid  lawyer,  and 
has  quite  wonderful  prospects.  He  is 
very  good-looking. 

Dolly.     I  don't  think  so. 

Betty.  Why,  Dolly,  he  is.  He  is  tall 
and  dignified.  Any  woman  could  be  proud 
to  show  him  off  as  her  husband.  He  has 
nice  brown  eyes,  and  is  wonderfully  mag- 
netic; besides,  he  says  in  the  note  that  he 

125 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

will  take  no  refusal,  and  Dick  always  gets 
his  way. 

Dolly.  That  settles  the  question.  I 
congratulate  the  future  Mrs.  Eichard  Aus- 
ten. 

Betty.  But  Harry  needs  some  one  who 
understands  him.  He  is  so  boyish  in  spite 
of  his  twenty-five  years.  I  should  not  like 
to  part  with  Harry's  devotion;  there  is 
something  very  sweet  and  innocent  about 
it.    He  is  very — dear  to  me. 

Dolly.    Then,  it  is  Mrs.  Harry  Young. 

Betty.  But  there  is  Tom  again.  After 
all  he  has  the  automobile. 

Dolly.  But  Dick  said  he  would  not 
take  a  refusal. 

Betty.    And  he  always  gets  his  way. 

Dolly.    And  Harry  needs  you. 

Betty.  And  would  never  get  over  it. 
0,  Dolly,  it  makes  me  miserable,  all  this 
coming  when  I  am  so  worried  about  the 
degree.  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Richards 
succeeded  in  winning  over  the  faculty  to 
his  side? 

Dolly.  Do  decide  upon  one  of  the  men, 
Betty. 

126 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Betty.     But  if  Dick  had  not  said — 

Dolly,  0,  bother,  you  make  me  nerv- 
ous. Write  their  names  on  slips  of  pa- 
per and  trust  to  Fate  for  your  draw,  or 
better  still,  refuse  them  all. 

Agnes.  [Calls  off.]  Dolly,  hurry,  the 
committee  meeting  will  be  half  over  be- 
fore we  get  there.  It  is  important,  too, 
all  about  Commencement  party. 

Dolly.  I  had  forgotten  it,  but  I  am 
coming.  Betty,  do  decide  before  I  return. 
[Exit.] 

^ETTY.  [Alone,  sits  at  table,  poking 
pencil  into  things  disconsolately.]  I  love 
them  all.  Do  I?  Could  I?  Would  II 
Shall  I?  Tom  could  not  command  me  if 
he  tried,  and  it  is  very  sweet  when  Dick 
does.  Yet  Dick  is  so  dignified  he  cannot 
romp  and  be  a  boy  like  Harry.  Perhaps 
they  won't  want  me  after  I  have  lost  my 
degre.  I  wonder  if  Professor  Richards — 
[Pause  of  thought.  Telephone  rings.] 
This  is  Holly  Hall.  Hello,  Dick,  yes,  it  is 
Betty.  It  is  strange  that  I  should  have 
been  the  only  one  here  to  answer  the 
'phone.     Yes,  I  received  it.     What  do  I 


127 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

think?  That  it  is  just  a  joke,  Dick,  and 
you  are  a  big  goose — and  I  won't — you 
forbid  me  to  use  that  word  to  you?  Then 
I  won't.  Want  what?  Use  it.  Marry 
you?  I  don't  know.  I  must.  Must  I? 
Must  I,  really?  You  refuse  to  take  ''no," 
you  command — well,  then  I — [Hangs  up 
receiver  hastily  as  if  in  terror.]  0,  I  al- 
most agreed.  He  makes  me,  I  can't  resist, 
I  will.  [In  feverish  haste  dashes  off  let- 
ter.] ''I  cannot  contradict  what  you  say 
to  me.  You  know  me  better  than  I  know 
myself.  I  do  love  you.  I  love  you, 
Betty."  [Calls  off.]  Matilde!  [Maid 
enters.]  Take  this  note  and  give  it  to  the 
gentleman  who  is  coming  in  a  few 
moments  to  call  on  me,  Mr.  Richard  Aus- 
ten. 

[^5    Betty    says    ''Austen/'    Blanch 
calls  ''Betty"  so  that  maid  hears 
only    "Mr.    Richard."    Exit    maid 
with    note.    Enter    Blanch,  Janet, 
Grace,  excited.] 
Blanch.     Betty,  Professor  Richards  is 
coming  down  the    walk.     Perhaps    he    is 
bringing  you  the  decision  of  the  faculty. 
Janet.     Isn't  he  stunning? 

128 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Blanch.     He  has  the  loveliest  blue  eyes. 

Betty.  [Runs  to  window.]  He  is 
coming  here. 

Blanch.  I  am  half  inclined  to  come 
back  to  take  a  post  graduate  course  with 
him. 

Betty.     [In  despair.]     O — 0 — 

Blanch.    What? 

Betty.     The  letter. 

Grace.  The  maid  is  handing  him  a  let- 
ter. 

Betty.     Stop  her,  stop  her.     My  letter. 

Janet.    Your  letter! 

Betty.  She  has  given  it  to  the  wrong 
man. 

Grace.    I'll  get  it.     [Exit.] 

Blanch.     Too  late;  he  is  reading  it. 

Betty.  [Wringing  her  hands.]  It 
wasn't  addressed;  he'll  never  understand. 
Tell  him  it  was  meant  for  some  one  else. 
If  I  could  only  go  myself,  but  I — I — could 
not  face  him. 

Blanch.     He  is  going  away. 

[Enter  maid  with  note.] 

129 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Betty.     [To  maid.]     You  fool,  yon  fool, 
to  give  that  note  to  Mr.  Richards. 
Maid.     You  said  to  Mr.  Richards. 
Betty.     To  Mr.  Richard  Austen. 
Maid.     T'aint  no  matter,  he   sent  you 
one  hisself.     [Hands  her  note.] 

Betty.  The  college  seal  in  red.  I  am 
afraid  to  look.  [Tears  it  open  viciously.] 
"My  dear  Miss  Clifton:  It  is  with  the 
greatest  regret  I — "  [Crumples  paper, 
throws  it  aside,  and  falls  to  her  knees, 
buries  face  in  chair.] 

Blanch.  [Picks  up  note.]  Betty  has 
dost  her  degree. 

[Girls  stand  about  awkwardly,  not 
knowing  what  to  say.  Enter  Dolly, 
who  understands  immediately,  takes 
Betty  in  her  arms.] 

Dolly.    0,  Betty,  Betty. 

Blanch.  We  can't  tell  you  how  we 
feel— 

Agnes.  Don't  you  care  about  losing  a 
measly  little  scrap  of  paper.  Pooh,  what 
is  a  degree,  anyway?    Pooh! 

Betty.  [Controlling  herself,  rises.]   Ex- 

130 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

cuse  me  for  making  a  fool  of  myself. 
[Tries  to  senile.]  I  guess  I  just  felt  a  lit- 
tle too  much,  Blanch,  a  little  too  much — 
emotion.  [To  Grace.]  Did  he  return  the 
note? 

Grace.  No  ;  he  said  you  must  have  been 
mistaken;  that  the  note  which  the  maid 
gave  him  related  to  his  private  affairs. 

Betty.  To  his  private — he  refused  to 
return  the  note. 

Geace.    Yes. 

Betty.    Did  he  explain  what  it  was? 

Grace.    No. 

Betty.  He  is  taking  a  mean  advantage 
of  me.  Well,  nothing  matters  now;  the 
degree  is  gone,  my  friendships  are  broken, 
I  seem  to  have  lost  everything. 

Agnes.  Pshaw;  no  you  haven't.  Tish, 
tush,  what  is  an  old  degree?  Friendship 
lost?  I  guess  not.  You  are  going  right 
home  with  me  to  spend  a  month  on  our 
ranch. 

Blanch.  Don't  forget  your  promise  to 
visit  me  in  New  York  next  season. 


131 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Dolly.  And  to  spend  August  with  us 
in  the  mountains.     [Enter  Maid.] 

Maid.  Three  gentlemen  to  see  Mis  Clif- 
ton.    [Gives  three  cards.] 

Dolly.  Betty,  it  is  Tom,  Dick  and 
Harry.  What  are  you  going  to  do  1  Have 
you  decided  which  one  it  is  to  be? 

Betty.  [Takes  cards  slowly;  sits  at 
table,  takes  pen  and  paper.]  Girls,  wait; 
I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor. 
Dolly,  come  here.  [Dolly  leans  over 
Betty's  shoulder  as  she  writes.]  ''Dear 
Tom,  thank  you  sincerely ;  I  cannot  see  you 
now.  I  have  lost  my  degree.  What  you 
ask  cannot  be.  I  am  sorry.  I  did  not 
want  to  lose  your  friendship;  it  meant  so 
much  to  me.  Betty."  [Puts  letter  in  en- 
velope.] Blanch,  you  know  Tom  Brum- 
mel. 

Blanch.  Of  course,  met  him  at  your 
house-party. 

Betty.  Gary  him  this  note,  and  if  he 
— ^if  he — doesn't  like  it  take  him  out  for 
a  walk;  anything  to  cheer  him. 

Blanch.     With  pleasure.     [Exit.] 

132 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Dolly.  Thank  heaven,  that  takes  one 
off  the  list. 

Betty.  [Writes.]  ''Dear  Harry,  you 
are  a  dear  boy,  but  I  cannot  love  you  as 
you  wish,  and  yet  I  love  you,  so  it  hurts  me 
to  tell  you  it  is  impossible.  It  hurts  me 
to  think  I  gave  you  any  cause  to  misunder- 
stand my  friendship.  I  cannot  see  you.  I 
have  lost  my  degree,  I  have  lost  you.  I 
am  miserable.    Betty. ' ' 

Dolly.     Away  with  number  two. 

Betty.  Janet,  you  remember  Harry 
Young,  your  favorite  at  my  house-party 
last  winter? 

Janet.     I  quite  lost  my  heart. 

Betty.  Give  him  this  and  be  kind  to 
him.  He  is  a  dear,  dear  boy.  [Exit 
Janet.    Pause.] 

Dolly.     And  Dick?     Richard  Austen? 

Betty.  {Hesitates,  then  writes.]  ''Dear 
Dick,  you  say  'must,'  I  answer  'no.' 
You  almost  succeeded  in  convincing  me; 
it  is  now  too  late.  Some  day  I  may  ex- 
plain; I  cannot  now.  Your  friendship  is 
too  precious  to  lose.     Let  me  keep  it,  and 


13 


o, 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

remember  me  always,  and  believe  me  al- 
ways the  old  Betty.'* 

Dolly.  Refuse  them  all?  Well,  I 
never ! 

Betty.  Take  this  to  Dick  yourself, 
Dolly;  I  couldn't  trust  him  to  any  one  but 
you,  dear. 

Dolly.  But  why  refuse  him  if  you  care 
so  much? 

Betty.  I  don't  care  quite  enough, 
Dolly.  Please,  dear,  take  it.  [Exit 
Dolly.] 

Betty.  [Alone  at  table,  leans  head  in 
hands.]  The  friendship  of  all  three  gone, 
and  he — the  degree  gone,  and  he — 0,  I 
wonder. 

Agnes.  [Throws  arms  about  Betty.] 
Shoot  the  old  degree;  I'll  give  you  mine. 

BK4.NCH.  [Enters  leaving  card  in  air.] 
Betty,  Tom  Brummel  sends  you  his  card. 

Betty.  [Reads.]  ''That's  all  right, 
old  girl.  I  thought  it  was  the  decent  thing 
to  do.  We'll  begin  where  we  left  off. 
Yours  as  always,  the  motor,  yacht  and 
Tom."     [Embraces  Blanch  enthusiastical- 

134 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

ly.]  Return  liim  that,  [Kisses  Blanch.] 
and  tell  him  he  is  just  bully. 

Blanch.    I  fly.     [Exit.] 

Janet.  [Enters  with  card.]  Betty,  an 
answer  from  Harry  Young. 

Betty.  [Reads.]  "You  are  a  brick.  I 
was  an  a  double  s.  Bother  an  old  de- 
gree. Your  devoted  old  boy.  Harry." 
0,  Janet,  go  hug  him  for  me. 

Janet.     I'll  tell  him.     [Exit.] 

Dolly.  [Enters  with  card.]  Betty,  I 
have  made  a  big  mistake.  Some  day  I 
hope  you  will  learn  to  forgive  me.  I 
thought  you  were  only  flirting,  but  I  didn't 
and  couldn't  understand  your  friendships. 
Dick  has  told  me. 

Betty.    What  do  you  mean,  dear? 

Dolly.  Dick  says  he  himself  would 
rather  explain  how  my  foolish  remarks 
misled  them.  Forgive  me,  dear,  for  med- 
dling. I  was  greatly  in  the  wrong.  He 
sends  this  card. 

Betty.  [Reads.]  ''Don't  mind  the  de- 
gree. We  all  love  you,  little  girl,  and  the 
three  of  us  are  aching  to  tell  you  how,  and 

135 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

waiting  since  you  will  not,  to  swear  on  the 
old  friendship  and  the  old  loyalty  to  our 
Betty.  Dick."  Dear,  dear  boys,  I  haven't 
lost  them  after  all. 

Maid.  [Enters.]  Professor  Eichards 
is  downstairs;  he  sends  this  note  to  Miss 
Clifton,  and  is  waiting  for  an  answer. 
[Hands  note.]  Girls — Professor  Rich- 
ards, 0,  Betty,  open  it  quick,  quick.  [En- 
ter Dolly,  Blanch  and  Grace.]  We  saw 
Mr.  Richards.    What  is  it  about,  Betty? 

Grace.  Perhaps  he  has  made  the  facul- 
ty grant  you  your  degree — 

Agnes    Open  it,  Betty;  don't  be  afraid. 

Dolly.  You  look  at  it  as  if  it  fright- 
ened you. 

Betty.  It  does.  [Draws  away  from 
girls  who  crowd  about  her,  takes  glance 
at  it,  smiles,  hugs  it  to  herself.] 

GiELs.     What  is  it,  Betty;  what  is  it? 

Betty.  [Breathless.] — He — he  says  that 
he — he  wishes — the  note  had  been  ad- 
dressed to  him — that  he — that  is — that  if  I 
could  consent  to — to  come  back  to  college 
next    year    and    repeat    the    course    in 

136 


BETTY'S  DEGREE. 

Psychology  I  could  get  my  degree  next 
June,  and — and — 

Girls.  [Suspecting.']  Betty,  Betty,  and 
what  ? 

Betty.  And — and  he  wants  to  know 
why  it  was  that  I  cut  so  many  of  the  Sike 
lectures  and  came  to  every  one  of  his  own. 

Dolly.  Didn  't  you  cut  any  of  Mr.  Rich- 
ard's  lectures  throughout  the  year? 

Betty.     [Shakes  head.]     Not  one. 

Dolly.     Why,  Betty,  why? 

Girls.     [Laugh.]     "Why,  Betty,  why? 

Betty.  Because,  because — well  maybe 
it  was  the  result  of  an  emotion. 

Maid.     The  answer  to  the  note.  Miss? 

Betty.  Tell  him  the  letter  was  ad- 
dressed to  him. 

CURTAIN. 


137 


THE   CLASS   PLAY 


CAST    OF    CHARACTERS. 

Madeline  Stone  (Dave,  the  hero). 
Constance  Kemper  (heroine). 

Anne  Henrietta  Emeline  Fit^hugh  (A,  B,  C,  Man- 
ager.) 
Katharine  Durkin  (Heavy). 
Marie  Emerson  (Cute,  Scene  Painter). 
Frances  Minor  (Bunny,  Class  Costume  Maker). 
Ruth  Haggert. 
Ellen  Perry. 

Mrs.  McNab   (Dave's  Aunt). 
The  Senior  (also  Girl  I). 
The  Freshman  (also  Girl  //). 
Girls  of  the  Class^  not  necessary,  but  more  effective. 

Place. 
A  College  in  the  East. 

Time. 

Autumn. 

Plays  one  hour  and  thirty  minutes. 


140 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

ACT    L 

Scene.  Afternoon,  Dave's  study;  Theatri- 
cal posters,  banners,  decorating  room. 
Furniture  standing  close  to  wall,  chair 
on  top  of  tea  table.  A  chiffonier  with 
many  draivers.  Room  in  state  of  confu- 
sion. ABC  on  floor  L  making  red  paper 
roses  and  white  lillies.  Bunny  fitting 
Constance,  who  stands  center  draped  in 
pale  green  sateen  embroidered  with 
jewels.  Heavy  seated  R.  sewing  on  a 
costume. 

Bunny.  Dog  biscuits!  that  seam  has 
ripped  again.  [To  Heavy.]  Take  smaller 
stitches,  Heavy,  or  else  have  the  other  girls 
run  it  up  on  the  machine  in  May's  room. 
[Pins  in  mouth.]  You  are  going  to  be  a 
perfect  darling  in  this  costume,  Constance, 
when  it's  finished.  Look,  girls,  isn't  it  a 
dream?     [Constance  revolves.] 

Heavy.  Perfectly  adorable !  You  are  a 
marvelously  clever  dressmaker,  Bunny; 
how  do  you  do  it? 

141 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Bunny.  Oh,  I  don't  know,  it's  just  fimj 
I  make  all  my  own  sMrtwaists. 

Abc.  Well,  you  are  a  wiz,  and  my 
greatest  comfort  in  times  like  these.  I  tell 
you,  being  manager  of  a  class  play  may  be 
fun,  but  it's  awfully  strenuous. 

Constance.  But  it  can't  make  you  nerv- 
ous as  the  mere  idea  of  playing  the  heroine 
does  me ;  Saturday  night  is  only  two  days 
off,  and  each  minute  I  am  getting  more 
and  more  fidgety. 

Heavy.  Don't  speak  of  it  or  you  will 
put  me  on  the  rack;  I  nearly  die  of  stage 
fright  myself,  but  it's  all  over  as  soon  as  I 
speak  my  first  lines  and  through  the  rest  of 
the  acts  I  have  the  greatest  fun  of  my  life ; 
there  is  nothing  that  warms  the  heart  so  as 
a  class  play.  Do  you  think  the  college  will 
like  ''The  Princess  Far  Away?" 

Abc.  It  likes  anything  with  you  in  it, 
Heavy,  you  just  have  to  walk  on  the  stage 
to  get  a  laugh. 

Heavy.    What  a  compliment,  he,  he,  he! 

Bunny.  You  made  a  big  hit  as  Mrs. 
Smith  in  our  play  "David  Garrick"  last 


142 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

year,  Heavy ;  no  one  in  college  has  forgot- 
ten how  funny  you  were. 

Heavy.  I  have  had  to  try  to  be  funny 
ever  since  to  make  them  remember. 

Abc.    Is  that  so  hard! 

Heavy.  Oh,  no,  my  wit  is  easy  to  manu- 
facture, but  some  of  it  is  of  such  delicate 
texture  that  only  the  best  minds  can  appre- 
ciate it. 

Abc.     Stung ! 

Bunny.  Walk  off,  Constance.  What  do 
you  think  of  it? 

Abc.  Turn  around;  oh,  the  back  is 
splendid,  beautiful  rich  green  folds ;  the 
train  is  regal.  You  have  no  idea  how  won- 
derfully sateen  shines  in  the  footlights. 

Heavy.     Let's  see  the  front. 

Bunny.  There  is  something  wrong  with 
that,  she  needs  silver  tassels  drooping  from 
the  shoulders  or  fastened  about  the  waist. 

Heavy.  Yes,  that  broad  effect  makes 
her  look  too  fat  for  the  Princess  Far  Away, 
too  well  fed  and  self-satisfied ;  I  have  a  cor- 
ner on  my  portly  frame  and  am  profession- 
ally jealous  of  encroachments  on  my  stock 
in  trade. 

143 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Constance.     Oh,  dear,  do  change  it. 

Abc.  Put  this  garland  of  paper  roses 
about  her. 

Constance.     Oh,  awful,  take  them  away. 

Heavy.    Yes,  that's  assinine. 

Bunny.  Dog  biscuits!  What  shall  I 
do! 

Abc.     She  needs  an  Ophelia  like  girdle. 

Constance.     Dave's  got  a  gold  sash. 

Bunny.    Where  is  it? 

Constance.  In  one  of  those  drawers,  I 
think. 

Abc.     In  here? 

Constance.  Oh,  don't;  we  oughtn't  to 
look  for  it  when  Dave  isn't  here. 

Heavy.  Dave  believes  in  common  prop- 
erty. 

Bunny.  This  room,  for  example,  the 
general  store-house  and  workshop  for  the 
class  in  its  theatrical  season.  Look  at  that 
bedroom  piled  up  with  paper  flowers,  and 
Dave's  in  there  with  costumes  and  cosmet- 
ics. 

Heavy.  Have  you  seen  Dave  in  any  of 
the  rehearsals,  Bunny? 

144 


THE  CLASS  PLAT. 

Bunny.    They  say  she  is  great. 

HEA\Tr.  Is  she?  You  ought  to  see  her 
make  love  to  Constance. 

Bunny.  I  shall  never  forget  how  stun- 
ning she  was  last  year  as  David  Garrick.    ■ 

Abo.  [Drawing  ribbon  from  drawer.] 
How's  that?  [Bunny  puts  it  about  Con- 
stance.] 

Heavy.  Take  it  off,  take  it  off,  it  makes 
her  look  like  a  pillow  tied  in  the  middle. 
She  must  look  snaky,  a  la  Ber^ljardt. 

[Enter  Cute  in  stveater  loohinct  a  little 
grimy,  carries  paint  pail  and  brush.] 

Bunny.  Hello,  Cute;  you  are  just  in 
time  to  give  us  the  benefit  of  your  artistic 
eye.   What  does  this  costume  need? 

Cute.  May  I  put  my  pail  here?  Look 
out  for  paint.  [Comes  down  stage,  back  to 
audience,  hand  on  hip,  other  clasping 
brush.]     Well,  well,  she  needs  a  railing. 

GiBLs.    What? 

Cute.  [Yawns.]  'Scuse  me,  I'm  a  little 
tired;  been  painting  scenery  all  day  down 
in  the  basement,  twisting  my  neck  this  way 
and  that,  and  my  head  hasn't  returned  to 

145 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

ite  right  spot  yet.  I  sliould  say  a  princess 
ought  to  wear  one  of  those  jeweled  stom- 
achers you  get  at  the  costumer's. 

Constance.  Of  course,  put  it  on  the  list, 
ABC. 

Abc.     [Writing  on  paper.]    This  list  is  a 
mile  long. 

Constance.  Look  out,  you'll  get  me  full 
of  paint. 

Cute.     Sorr}^ 

Heavy.     Got  the  scenery  done? 

Cute.  [Yaivns.]  'Scuse  me,  most  all; 
we  ran  out  of  paint;  the  ship  scene  needs 
some  more  sky,  put  blue  paint  on  the  list. 

Heavy.     Where  are  the  other  girls'? 

Cute.  [Yawns.]  Who,  my  scene  paint- 
ers? They're  carpenters  now;  that  ship 
scene  was  a  plaguey  thing  to  plan,  but  it's 
going  to  be  great.  Where's  my  poster? 
[Finds  it.] 

Abc.  Are  you  going  to  make  more  post- 
ers? 

Cute.  This  is  a  new  one  to  be  hung  at 
the  entrance  to  the  hall ;  the  one  I  had  there 
I  sold  for  two  dollars  to  a  visitor. 


146 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Hea^tt.  What  luck;  you  ought  to  be  at 
an  academy  learning  art  and  not  in  college. 

Cute.  That 's  the  funny  part  of  it ;  if  I 
hadn't  come  here  I  would  never  have 
thought  of  drawing  a  line;  when  we  were 
getting  ready  for  our  play,  ''David  Gar- 
rick,"  last  year,  I  was  asked  to  fill  in  with 
color  what  one  of  the  girls  had  drawn.  I 
did  it  just  to  be  helpful. 

Abc.  And  now  you  are  head  scene 
painter  and  carpenter  for  the  class. 

Cute.  Isn't  it  strange?  I  came  to  col- 
lege with  the  firm  conviction  to  be  gradu- 
ated a  professor  of  languages;  instead,  I 
end  my  college  career  with  sophomore  year 
to  enter  the  world  of  art.  [Yawns.] 
'Sense  me,  where 's  Dave! 

Bunny.  At  a  lecture;  she  ought  to  be 
here  soon, 

Constance.  [Showing  flowers  to  ABC 
tvhich  she  has  been  making.]  Is  that  right? 

Abc.  Looks  like  a  cabbage,  but  I  guess 
it  doesn't  matter. 

Heavy.  I  need  some  brown  cloth  for 
this,  ABC,  put  it  on  the  list. 

147 


TEE  CLASS  PLAT. 

Bunny.  And  I  want  about  three  more 
yards  of  white  sateen,  put  that  on  the  list. 

Constance.  Do  you  suppose  Dave  will 
buy  some  candy  for  me? 

Abc.  I  guess  one  thing  more  or  less 
doesn't  matter,  how  much? 

Constance.  Two  pounds,  I  can't  afford 
more  this  week. 

Dave.  [Enters  with  hooks  which  she 
throws  doivn  in  great  haste.]  Girls,  do  you 
think  I'll  make  that  3:20  train  to  town? 
The  lecture  was  over  at  3,  but  I  had  to 
chase  down  to  the  hall  to  see  about  the  elec- 
tric light  bulbs;  have  you  the  list  there? 
Oh,  dear,  I'm  so  late  and  so  dirty,  haven't 
had  a  moment  to  myself  all  day;  my  col- 
lar's a  sight.  [Puts  on  fresh  one  takeyi  from 
drawer.] 

Abc.     What  about  the  electric  bulbs  ? 

Dave.  Why,  we  must  have  moonlight  or 
dawn  light  for  the  opening  scene  and  I  had 
to  find  out  what  kind  of  bulbs  to  get;  the 
moonlight  is  worn  out. 

Abc.  Get  along  without  moonlight,  it 
isn't  necessary  and  it's  an  awful  lot  of 
bother. 

148 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  Play  a  romantic  hero  without 
moonlight.  Besides,  ihe  book  calls  for 
**just  before  dawn."  Never.  Slivers, 
where  is  a  clean  stock?  [Rummages  in 
drawers.] 

Cute.  It  isn't  artistic  not  to  have  moon- 
light. 

Dave.     I  must  find  a  clean  stock. 

Abc.     I'll  get  you  one  of  mine.     [Exit.] 

Dave.  There's  a  handkerchief  and 
money — gloves — only  one  glove,  where 's 
the  other — I'll  never  make  that  train; 
Heavy,  look  in  my  bedroom  for  gloves,  will 
you?    There's  my  veil.     [Exit  Heavy.] 

Abc.     [Enters.]    Here's  a  fresh  stock. 

Dave.  Thanks  awfully.  Where's  the 
shopping  list? 

Abc.    Here. 

Dave.  Read  it  to  me.  Oh,  I've  got  my 
old  pumps  on.  Heavy,  bring  me  my  brown 
shoes,  on  top  of  the  bed,  if  you  don't  find 
them  under. 

Abc.  One  more  sailor's  costume  to  be 
ordered  from  the  costumer's,  a  box  of 
rouge  and 

149 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  Cut  that,  I  have  all  the  rouge  we 
need  left  from  our  musical  show. 

Abc.     a  girdle  for  Constance 

Heavy.  [Enters  with  shoes  and  glove.'] 
Here  they  are. 

Dave.  [Tosses  gloves  to  Bunny.']  Turn 
them  inside  out.  [Constance  and  Heavy 
put  shoes  on  Dave.]  What  kind  of  a  girdle? 

Constance.  Jeweled  around  this  way. 
[Dave  nods.] 

Abc.     Wigs  for 

Dave.     Know  all  about  wigs. 

Constance.     Don't  forget  mine. 

Girls.     Yours  ? 

Abc.  You're  not  going  to  be  stubborn 
about  that  light  wig? 

Constance.  I  insist  upon  having  light 
hair;  it  is  much  prettier  to  have  the  con- 
trast ;  imagine  both  hero  and  heroine  with 
dark  hair. 

Abc.  But  with  your  dark  complexion 

Cute.     A  peroxide  brunette. 

Dave.  I'll  never  make  that  train. 
[Laughs.] 

Heavy.     You'll  be  a  sight  in  a  light  wig. 

150 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Abc.     She  can't  have  it,  I'm  manager. 

Constance.     Then  I  won't  play. 

Dave.  I'll  get  you  one.  Give  me  the  list. 
I'm  off.    [Starts  out.] 

Heavy.    Where's  your  hat? 

Dave.  [Feels  head,  laughs.]  Hat?  Oh, 
how  silly,  I  forgot  it,  I  haven't  worn  one 
for  a  week;  where  is  mv  hat? 

Bunny.    Which  one? 

Dave.    Black,  with  flowers. 

Heavy.    Haven't  seen  it. 

Dave.  I  remember,  I  put  it  in  this  box. 
[Takes  out  black  hat,  minus  flowers,  girls 
gasp,  then  shriek  with  laughter.]  I  forgot 
I  took  off  the  flowers  to  sew  them  on  Bun- 
ny's costume,  but  I  haven't  time  to  put 
them  back. 

Heavy,     I'll  get  you  my  hat.     [Exit.] 

Bunny.  Perhaps  one  of  mine  will  be 
more  becoming.     [Exit.] 

Constance.     Or  mine.     [Exit.] 
Dave.     I  shan't  have  enough  breath  left 
to  run  to  the  station. 

Abc.  There  is  a  rehearsal  to-night,  and 
do  learn  your  cues. 

151 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  I'm  going  to  study  my  part  on 
tlie  train.  Do  you  tliink  we'll  make  a  hit? 
Every  one  is  green  with  curiosity  to  know 
the  name  of  the  play  and  all  eye  me  sus- 
piciously. 

Heavy.     [Enters  with  hat.]    Try  this. 

Dave.  Oh,  dear,  it  makes  me  look  like  a 
turnip. 

Bunny.  [Enters  with  hat.]  Put  this 
on. 

Dave.    Well 

Constance.  [Enters  with  hat.]  "Wear 
mine. 

Dave.  Too  small,  I'll  take  yours,  Bunny; 
thanks,  have  I  everything  now?  Good  bye. 
[Exit.] 

Cute.    Do  you  think  she'll  make  it? 

Bunny.  It  is  as  natural  for  Dave  to 
catch  a  train  as  it  is  for  her  to  run  for  it. 

Heavy.  I'm  out  of  breath  myself.  [Picks 
up  witrimmed  hat,  puts  it  on  to  he  funny.] 
The  latest  style,  the  invisible  trimming; 
ladies,  isn't  it  charming,  very  charming? 
Girls,  when  you  buy  a  hat  do  you  get  a  bill 
with  it? 

GiKiiS.     Of  course. 

152 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Heavy.  "Wlien  do  you  get  two  bills  with 
it? 

Bunny.     Don't  know. 

Cute.  Another  brilliant  joke  of  yours, 
I  suppose. 

Abc.  Give  it  up,  when  do  you  get  two 
bills  with  a  hat? 

Heavy.    When  there  is  a  bird  on  it. 

Girls.     Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh! 

Heavy.  Frivolity  avaunt;  'tis  not  the 
time  for  levity;  to  the  needle  slaves  that 
the  hero  may  be  clad  in  velvet  doublet  and 
silken  hose ;  a  needle,  a  needle,  my  kingdom 
for  a  needle.  [Pricks  herself  on  it.] 
Ouch!!! 

Cute.  [Splashes  paint  on  poster.]  I 
wish  Rostand  could  see  my  scenery  for  the 
* 'Princess  Faraway."  Mr.  Belasco  isn't  in 
it.    I've  made  the  loveliest  palace 

Bunny.  [At  ivindoiv.]  Dog  biscuits, 
there's  Dave  coming  back  with  her  aunt. 

Abc.    She  has  missed  the  train. 

Cute.  Is  that  the  aunt  Dave  has  been 
expecting? 

Abc.  The  one  she  has  lived  with  since 
her  parents  died? 

153 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Constance.  And  she  dreads  to  have 
come? 

Bunny.  Yes,  yes,  and  look  at  this  room, 
quick,  clean  it  up. 

[Wild  confusion  as  girls   try   to  set 
room    to    rights;    spontaneous    re- 
marks of  "Put  this  there,  here,  take 
this."    When  Dave  and  Mrs.  McNah 
enter,  girls  stop  suddenly  in  awk- 
ward positions  to  create  a  laugh.] 
Dave.     This  is  my  aunt,  Mrs.  McNab,  I 
have  told  you  so  much  about;  aunt,  this  is 
Miss  Kemper,  Fitzburgh,   Durkin,  Emer- 
son, Minor. 

Mes.  M.  [Bows  stiffly,  puckers  nose.] 
What  an  untidy  room. 

Dave.  We  are  preparing  for  a  big  class 
play. 

Mes.  M.  Very  inconsiderate,  indeed,  I 
think,  of  them  to  impose  upon  you. 

Dave.     Oh,  I  like  it. 

Abc.     How  about  the  shopping? 

Dave.  Here  is  the  list,  ask  some  one  else 
to  go;  wasn't  it  a  strange  coincidence  that 
aunt  should  get  off  the  train  from  the  city 
just  as  I  reached  the  station? 

154 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Abc.    I'll  corral  somebody  else.    [Exit.] 

Constance.  Be  sure  to  explain  about 
my  wig.     [Calls  after  her.] 

Dave.     And  my  moonlight.    ^ 

Mks.  M.     Moonlight,  wig? 

Dave.  For  the  play;  won't  you  take  off 
your  coat? 

Mes.  M.  No,  I  shall  not  stay  long  for 
fear  of  interrupting  your  lessons. 

Heavy.     Our  lectures? 

Constance  j 

Bunny.        >  [Soto  together.]    Lectures. 

Cute.  ) 

Dave.  Most  of  our  lectures  come  in  the 
morning,  aunt;  we  may  spend  the  rest  of 
our  time  as  we  choose. 

Mrs.  M.  You  astonish  me ;  as  I  met  you, 
you  were  going  into  the  city  alone,  unchap- 
eroned,  to  shop  for  the  school? 

Heavy.    The  college  ? 

Constance.    ) 

Bunny.  [•     [Soto.]     College. 

Cute.  ) 

Dave.     I  like  to  do  it. 

155 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Mrs.  M.  And  may  every  girl  go  without 
asking  permission  from  the  teachers'? 

Heavy.    The  professors? 

Constance  \   j-^^^^  together.-]       Profes- 

Cum''*        )        ^«^^- 

Mrs.  M.  Or  have  you  earned  the  privi- 
lege because  of  good  behavior? 

Heavy.  {Aside  to  Cute.]  Say,  she  takes 
this  for  a  boarding  school. 

Dave.  We  have  the  system  of  self-gov- 
ernment by  which  is  meant 

Mrs.  M.  [Points  to  costumes.]  What  is 
that? 

Bunny.    A  costume  for  Constance. 

Mrs.  M.  Charming;  I  am  surprised  to 
see  a  college  girl  sew;  very  well  done,  in- 
deed. [Aside  to  Dave.]  I  don't  suppose 
she  is  very  intellectual. 

Dave.  [Laughs.]  Bunny  is  one  of  the 
cleverest  girls  in  the  class,  isn't  she. 
Heavy? 

Mrs.  M.  Oh,  dear,  what  a  name,  do  they 
— always  call — you — that? 

Heavy.  I'm  not  a  bit  offended;  it's  my 
nickname. 

156 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Mrs.  M.  It  is  startlingly  frank;  do  you 
sew,  too  ? 

Heavy.    Yes,  a  little. 

Cute.  Heavy  is  one  of  our  star  act- 
resses. 

Heavy.  [Pretending  modesty.]  Now, 
Cute,  don't  embarrass  me. 

Mrs.  M.    Cute ! ! ! 

Cute.     [Hurt.]    Don't  I  look  it? 

Constance.  [Embraces  Cute.]  Cute  is 
the  artist  of  the  class. 

Heavy.  [Holds  up  poster.]  That's 
hers. 

Mrs.  M.  [Astonished.]  Very  good,  in- 
deed, very  good,  indeed ;  what  is  it  ? 

Heavy.  [Pokes  Cute.]  She  wants  to 
know  what  it  is. 

Dave.  A  poster  announcing  the  date, 
time  and  place  where  our  play  is  to  be 
given. 

Mrs.  M.  I  am  interested,  my  dear  Made- 
line, to  see  how  badly  you  can  act. 

Heavy.     Dave  is  a  star. 

Mrs.  M.  Do  you  still  call  Madeline  by 
that  foolish  name? 

157 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Cute.  It  is  hers  ever  since  she  played 
David  Garrick  so  well  last  year. 

Mes.  M.    Very  undignified. 

Bunny.     A  token  of  affection. 

Mrs.  M.  a  very  untidy  room;  what  is 
this?  [Picks  up  untrimmed  hat.]  Your 
hat  ?  Where  are  all  those  beautiful  roses  I 
paid  so  much  for? 

Dave.  Well — you  see,  aunt,  hats  aren*t 
worn — on  the  campus. 

Heavy.     [Aside.]    No,  on  our  heads. 

Mes,  M.  The  idea  of  ruining  such  an  ex- 
pensive hat  and  wearing  such  a  fright! 
[Pout  from  Bunny.]  Where  did  you  get  it? 

Dave.     One  of  the  girls  lent  it  to  me. 

Mes.  M.  Madeline  Stone,  you  haven't 
borrowed  somebody's  hat?  I  am  ashamed 
of  you. 

Bunny.     We  often  borrow  like  that. 

Mes.  M.  Do  you,  indeed?  A  very  bad 
habit.  Look  at  the  hat  she  has  on  now,  a 
cheap,  unbecoming  affair.  Take  it  off. 
[Pointing  to  Dave's  bedroom.]  Where  does 
this  go?     [Exit.] 

Dave.  My  bedroom.  [To  girls.]  Did 
you  clean  it  up  ? 

158 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Heavy.     [Whisper.]     Didn't  have  time. 

Dave.     It's  all  up  with  me.     [Exit.] 

Cute,  Aren't  you  tired  of  teaching  peo- 
ple all  about  college?  I  am  going  to  de- 
part as  soon  as  I  can  manage  it  gracefully. 

Mrs.  M.  [Enters.]  Madeline,  you  have 
lost  all  your  sense  of  order;  a  room  so 
small  that  one  can  scarcely  turn  around  in 
it,  and  littered  with  everything. 

Heavy.  Well,  you  see  Mrs.  McNab, 
Dave  wasn't  very  wise  when  she  moved 
into  this  suite.  The  bedrooms  are  so  tiny 
that  each  new  occupant  is  confronted  with 
the  problem  of  deciding  what  article  of  fur- 
niture is  of  most  importance,  a  dresser  or 
a  bed.  We  keep  intact  the  one  we  consider 
the  most  essential  to  our  comfort,  but  oust 
the  other,  and  have  it  painted  on  the  wall. 
Dave  kept  both,  and  you  see  it  is  not  a  bit 
practical. 

Mes.  M.    I  scarcely  comprehend — 
Dave.    Aunt,  can't  I  offer  you  some  tea? 

Mes.  M.    I  don 't  see  how  you  can ;  where 

is  it? 

Cute.    [Aside  to  Heavy.]    Slivers,  I  shot 
the  tea-caddy  under  the  couch. 

159 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Date.  [Looking  about.]  I  always  have 
tea  for  the  girls  in  the  afternoon. 

Cute.  [Aside  to  Dave.]  Tea-caddy — 
couch — my  fault. 

Dave.  But  as  my  room  is  so  uncomfort- 
able to-day,  we  had  better  go  to  the  tea- 
house. 

Abc.  [Enters.]  Ellen  Perry  took  the 
list. 

Dave.    You  didn't  send  her? 

Abc.    Why  not? 

Dave.  Because  it  isn't  fair  to  send  on 
your  errands  a  girl  whom  none  of  us  like, 
or  ever  entertain,  or  even  speak  to. 

Abc.  Pshaw!  she  was  only  too  glad  to 
have  me  pay  attention  to  her. 

Dave.  You  should  have  gone  yourself 
rather  than  beg  a  favor  from  a  girl  you 
may  cut  on  the  campus  to-morrow. 

Abc.    Euth  Haggerty  refused. 

Dave.    Good,  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Constance.  You're  too  cordial  to  all  the 
girls,  Dave;  it  doesn't  pay;  you  will  only 
be  troubled  by  having  about  you  a  great 
many  you  are  above  associating  with. 

160 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  T  believe  in  greeting  every  time  I 
see  her ,  every  girl  I  have  no  reason  to  dis- 
like; but  you  greet  one  day  and  cut  the 
next. 

Abc.  You  are  entirely  too  nice  to  Ruth 
and  I  tell  you  she  isn't  worth  it ;  I  lived  in 
her  Hall  last  year,  you  know. 

Dave.  I  don't  know  whether  or  not  she's 
worth  it,  but  until  I  find  out  to  the  contrary 
through  personal  experience,  she  is  worthy 
of  my  recognition,  Abe. 

Mbs.  M.    Abc,  what's  that? 

Hea\'y.  Allow  me  to  introduce  to  you, 
Miss  Anne  Henrietta  Emeline  Fitzburgh, 
whom  we  call  Ahc  to  relieve  her  from  the 
burden  of  her  long  name.  AVe  used  to  call 
her  Ahef,  but  soon  changed  to  Abc,  which 
was  easier  for  our  kindergarten  minds  to 
remember. 

Cute.  [Aside  to  Bunny,']  Come  along, 
I'm  bored  to  death. 

Dave.    Are  you  going! 

Cute.  Awfully  sorry  I  have  some  study- 
ing to  do. 

Heavy.    So  have  I. 


161 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Bunny.  That  reminds  me  of  my  chem- 
istry. 

Constance.    And  my  Greek. 

Heavy.    Good-bye,  Mrs.  McNab. 

[Formal  ''adieus"  and  girls  exeunt. ] 

Mrs.  M.  Madeline,  are  those  the  nicest 
girls  in  the  school  ? 

Dave.  In  college?  They  are  very  popu- 
lar and  influential  and  I  am  very  fond  of 
them.  I  should  prefer  to  call  them  a  few 
of  the  nicest  girls  in  college;  there  are  a 
great  many. 

Mes.  M.    Are  they  rich? 

Dave.    Not  all. 

Mes.  M.  What  are  their  social  positions 
in  their  homes  ? 

Dave.  I  can't  say;  they  come  from  dif- 
ferent cities. 

Mes.  M.  You  should  make  it  a  point  to 
know.  How  do  you  gauge  social  position 
here? 

Dave.  It  depends  mostly  upon  personal- 
ity, ability  and  chance.  Some  girls  who  are 
known  to  have  social  prestige  at  home  are 
only  tolerated  here.    While  others  who  are 

162 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

working  their  way  through  college  are  very 
much  respected.  On  the  whole,  a  girl  stands 
on  her  own  merit,  irresjDective  of  her  rela- 
tives. 

Mrs.  M.    Are  you  popular? 

Dave.  That  is  an  embarrassing  question, 
aunt. 

Mrs.  M.  I  scarcely  believe  it,  or  else 
they  would  not  impose  upon  your  good  na- 
ture to  do  their  shopping  or  litter  your 
room  like  this.  Nor  can  I  understand  how 
these  girls  to  whom  you  introduced  me  are 
the  representative  girls  of  your  class ;  their 
clothes  were  shabby  and  their  hair  and 
hands  not  at  all  groomed. 

Dave.  Oh,  if  you  wish  to  meet  the  college 
society  girl,  I'll  take  you  to  the  tea-house 
where  they  are  to  be  found  every  after- 
noon. 

Mrs.  M.  Then  they  are  the  representa- 
tive girls. 

Dave.  By  no  means ;  quite  the  contrary ; 
they  spend  most  of  their  spare  time  at 
house  parties  and  at  theater  and  luncheon 
parties  in  town;  they  are  very  charming 


163 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

and  we  are  fond  of  them,  but  no  influence 
of  theirs  is  felt  in  the  affairs  of  the  class. 

Mrs.  M.  Very  queer  reasoning,  my  dear; 
T  don't  understand  it.  Are  you  recognized 
by  the  whole  college  as  a  girl  of  social  pres- 
tige? 

Dave.    Yes,  I  may  safely  say  so. 

Mes.  M.    College  social  prestige? 

Dave.  Yes.  I  doubt  if  there  are  more 
than  fifteen  girls  who  know  even  the  town 
I  come  from. 

Mrs.  M.  It  is  inconceivable.  But  why 
are  you  nice  to  a  girl  whom  your  friends 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with? 

Dave.  Because  Kuth  is  in  one  of  my 
classes,  and  has  done  me  the  kindness  to 
let  me  copy  her  notes  on  a  lecture  I  cut. 
She  isn't  known  in  the  class;  isn't  known 
for  doing  anything  especially  well,  playing 
basket  ball  or  hockey,  swimming  or  acting, 
or  writing,  and  therefore  my  friends  think 
she  isn't  interesting  and  not  worth  know- 
ing. 

Mrs.  M.  They  are  right,  I  am  sure.  Our 
social  position  in  Cincinnati  is  not  great 
enough  to  warrant  your  making  any  mis- 

164 


THE  CLASS  PLAY, 

takes  here ;  it  will  only  stand  to  your  credit 
at  home  if  you  make  influential  friends.  I 
am  really  cross  with  you  for  jeopardizing 
your  reputation  by  associating  with  anyone 
that  is  not  admitted  into  the  circle  of  the 
select  few. 

Dave.  I  don't  associate  with  Ruth  Hag- 
gert  aunt;  I  don't  know  anything  about 
her;  I  also  question  if  she  is  interesting, 
but  all  the  same  1  believe  it  is  only  human 
to  wish  her  the  time  of  day. 

Mrs.  M.  You  are  always  so  headstrong. 
Just  like  your  father.  Always  insisting 
upon  going  against  the  current  of  popular 
opinion. 

Dave.  [Laughs.]  Quite  true,  aunt;  and 
now,  since  so  much  fuss  has  been  made 
about  it,  T  am  determined  more  than  ever 
to  bow  to  Ruth ;  but  let  us  go  to  the  tea- 
house. 

Mes.  M.  I  must  take  an  early  train  into 
town  so  as  to  have  time  to  unpack  my  trunk 
at  the  hotel  before  your  uncle  returns  from 
his  business  conference. 

Dave.    We  have  time ;  excuse  me  just  a 

165 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY, 

moment,  aunt,  and  I'll  pin  up  my  rebellious 
and  ungroomed  hair.    [Exit.] 

Mes.  M.  You  need  to  do  so.  [Looks 
about  room;  picks  up  books.]  A  novel ;  an- 
other, and  another ;  all  Henry  James ;  Mat- 
thew Arnold,  Euripides,  Nonsense  Ehymes, 
Darwin,  Bewoulf,  The  Foolish  Dictionary, 
another  Henry  James,  Alice  in  Wonder- 
land; truly  a  remarkable  collection.  [Turns 
around  just  in  time  to  see  Girls  1  and  2 
walk  off  with  Dave's  rug.  Excited.]  Here, 
what  are  you  doing  with  my  niece's  rug? 
Madeline!  drop  it  this  instant.  How  dare 
you  1    Madeline ! 

GiBLS.  Oh,  that's  all  right.  [Exit  with 
rug.] 

Mes.  M.  "What  effrontery!  Madeline, 
they  have  stolen  your  rug;  they — [Turns 
again  to  see  them  take  out  a  chair.] — and 
now  they  are  taking  your  chair !  !  ! 

Dave.     [Enters.]    Hello! 

GiEL  1,  We  need  the  rug  and  chair  for 
the  palace  scene. 

Dave.     All  right.     [Exeunt  girls.] 
Mes.  M.  Why — ^why — I  never !    What  im- 
pudence !    You  are  the  most  imposed  upon 

166 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

girl  in  the  school — I  am  ashamed  of  your 
meek  endurance  of  insult !  ! 

Dave.    Aunt,  you  don't  understand. 

Mes.  M.  No,  I  can  scarcely  say  I  do ;  I 
have  never  been  in  a  place  that  has  so  suc- 
ceeded in  upsetting  me.  I  don't  think  it  is 
good  for  your  nerves  to  live  in  such  a  con- 
tinual state  of  confusion ;  I  must  have  some 
air. 

Dave.    Very  well.    [Starts  out.] 

Mes.  M.    Don't  you  lock  your  door? 

Dave.    There  is  no  need  of  that. 

Mrs.  M.  Indeed,  I  think  there  is  great 
need;  at  the  rate  they  have  been  taking 
your  things,  they  won't  leave  you  more 
than  a  tooth  brush  before  night-fall.  [Ex- 
eunt.] 

[Pause.      Enter    Bunny,    Cute,    Con- 
stance.] 

Bunny.  The  coast  is  clear,  I  saw  them 
go  out;  we  have  to  finish  your  costume, 
Constance. 

Cute.    And  I  my  poster. 

Bunny.  People  do  get  the  strangest  ideas 
about  us  and  draw  the  weirdest  conclu- 

167 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

sions ;  you  would  think  that  a  college  course 
developed  us  into  extraordinary  animals  lit 
for  nothing  but  exhibition  at  a  zoo. 

Cute.  AVhieh  species?  [Croivs,  ha-as, 
moos,  etc.] 

Bunny.  It  took  me  a  year  to  reform  the 
family  habit  of  saying  ' '  school" ;  then,  after 
I  had  expatiated  upon  the  dignity  of  our 
courses,  and  the  independence  given  to  us 
as  college  women,  they  were  panic-stricken 
that  I  was  going  to  lose  my  joy  in  domes- 
ticity and  develop  into  a  blue  stocking. 

Constance.  A  woman  was  horribly 
shocked  one  day  when  in  answer  to  her 
question  I  said  that  the  college  provided 
maids  to  clean  our  rooms  and  make  our 
beds ;  her  idea  was  to  send  her  daughter  to 
a  place  where  she  could  learn  how  to  make 
beds ;  I  told  her  that  if  it  would  take  her 
daughter  four  years  to  learn  how  to  make 
a  bed,  I  was  afraid  she  could  never  pass  a 
college  examination. 

Cute.  Did  you  hand  it  to  her  as  strong 
as  that? 

Constance.  Her  stupidity  incensed  me; 
I  was  thinking  of  the  epidemics  of  sewing 

168 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

fever  we  get  before  Christmas  and  of  all 
the  good  dinners  we  cook.  When  I  am  mar- 
ried, I  am  going  to  show  what  a  fine  house- 
keeper a  college  girl  can  be. 

Bunny.  So  am  I,  to  prove,  if  nothing 
else,  that  we  don't  have  to  boil  water  with 
a  thermometer. 

Cute.  The  trouble  is  that  people  outside 
of  college  can't  see  enough  of  college  life 
to  understand  it ;  they  see  us  grave  one  day 
and  foolish  the  next,  but  do  not  know  when 
to  take  us  seriously,  when  frivolously ;  the 
world  has  created  one  pattern  of  college 
girl;  when  a  girl  happens  to  fit  it,  she  is 
the  type ;  all  others  only  exceptions.  Then 
she  gets  fat  on  hot  chocolate,  or  thin  dur- 
ing exams,  and  is  slipped  unceremoniously 
into  the  list  of  exceptions. 

Abc.  [Enters,  irorried.]  Say,  how  can 
you  make  a  ship  creak? 

Cute.    AVear  squeaky  shoes? 

Abc.    How  do  you  make  shoes  squeak? 

Cute.    If  that's  a  joke,  I  give  it  up. 

Abc.  Do  help  me;  I'm  getting  desper- 
ate. I've  looked  at  your  ship  scene  and  it's 
great ;  but  when  the  sailors  are  working  the 

169 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

oars  we  mtist  have  a  creaking  and  groaning 
for  realism. 

[Girls  rise,  hunt  about  room,  think- 
ing.] 

Bunny.  [Scrapes  chair  across  floor.] 
How's  that? 

Constance.  [Knocks  hat-box  against 
wall]    How's  that? 

Cute.  My  carpenters  and  I  will  find  a 
way. 

Abc.  [Relieved.]  Oh,  I  hope  you  can 
manage  it. 

Ruth.    [Enters.]    Is  Dave  Stone  here? 

Abc.  [To  Constance.]  Ruth  Haggert; 
I  told  Dave  she'd  pester  her  to  death  now. 

Bunny.    Dave's  out. 

Ruth.    Do  you  know  when  she  '11  return  ? 

Bunny.    No,  I  don't. 

Cute.  Something  important?  We'll  give 
her  a  message. 

Ruth.  Thank  you;  .it  is  not  urgent 
enough  to  warrant  that.    [Exit.] 

Abc.  She  is  the  most  independent  kind 
of  a  creature. 

Bunny.    I  guess  she  is  harmless. 

170 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

CoNBTANCE.  She  goes  about  the  campus 
in  a  quiet  enough  way,  minding  her  own 
business;  she  seems  to  have  only  a  few 
friends. 

Cute.    Who  are  they? 

Constance.  A  bunch  of  quiet  grinds  in 
Darby  Hall  that  haven't  any  class  spirit, 
and  don't  care  a  snap  if  we  are  going  to 
give  ''The  Princess  Far- Away"  or  "What 
Happened  to  Jones.'*  You  must  know 
about  them,  Abe;  you  were  in  their  Hall 
last  year. 

Abc.  Never  had  much  to  do  with  them; 
I  told  Dave  if  she  gave  her  any  encourage- 
ment Euth  would  be  hanging  about  her  all 
the  time. 

Cute.    I  wonder  what  she  wanted. 

Abc.  That  is  just  a  trick  to  get  a  chance 
to  come  again. 

Cute.    Oh,  I'm  tired. 

[Enter  Dave.] 

Dave.  That  was  bully  of  you  girls  to 
clean  my  room  up;  I  nearly  died  when  I 
met  aunt  at  the  station;  she  came  a  week 
earlier  than  she  had  intended,  because  uncle 
had  business  in  town. 

171 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Bunny.  We  cleaned  up  as  well  as  we 
could. 

Dave.  I  am  worn  to  a  frazzle  with  the 
strain,  and  I  am  horribly  blue,  because  I 
know  aunt  has  gone  away  with  the  most 
awful  impressions  of  college  and  us;  but 
what  could  I  do !  One  can 't  explain  whys 
and  wherefores  in  one  short  hour. 

Bunny.  Cheer  up,  you  can't  afford  to 
get  peevish  before  the  play. 

Dave.  Well,  I'm  sick;  downright  heart- 
sick. 

Abc.    And  I'm  tired. 

Cute.    I'm  too  stiff  to  move. 

Constance.    I'm  getting  a  sore  throat. 

Bunny.  No,  you  are  not ;  you  just  can't ; 
you've  got  to  play  day  after  to-morrow. 

[Girls  all  doze  a  bit.] 

Bunny.  [Suddenly.]  Let 's  not  go  down 
to  the  dining-room  for  dinner,  but  make  our 
supper  up  here. 

Cute.  [Wide  aivake.]  Just  the  thing! 
What  shall  we  have?    I'll  fry  a  steak. 

Bunny.    I'll  make  waffles. 

172 


^HE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Constance.  Let  me  get  peas  and  Sara- 
toga chips. 

Abc.  I'll  make  the  coffee  and  get  Heavy 
to  help  us  buy  the  food  in  the  village. 

Cute.  Get  the  dishes  out,  Dave,  and  we'll 
have  the  stuif  all  cooking  in  the  little 
kitchen  across  the  hall  before  you  can  say 
Jack  Eobinson.  [Exeunt  all  except  Dave, 
who  arranges  tea-tahle.    Enter  Ruth.] 

Ruth.  May  I  claim  a  few  moments  of 
your  time,  Dave? 

Da\te.  Certainly,  Ruth;  come  in,  won't 
you? 

Ruth.  I  saw  by  the  registration  card  in 
the  library  that  you  are  reading  Malory; 
if  you  have  not  promised  to  give  it  to  some 
one  else  when  you  have  read  it  may  I — 

Dave.  I'll  give  it  to  you  now;  I  finished 
it  this  morning,  but  didn't  have  the  time 
to  return  it.    [Gives  book.] 

Ruth.  [Takes  it.]  Thank  you.  [Turns 
to  go.]  I  shall  try  to  do  all  the  reading  in 
it  to-night.     [Almost  exit.] 

Dave.    Oh, — 

Ruth.    Did  you  speak? 

173 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  Why — I — won't  you  sit  downf 
This  is  the  first  call  you  have  ever  made 
me;  can't  I — at  least  offer  you  the  hospital- 
ity— of  a  chair;  I  can't  offer  you  anything 
else  because  every  eatable  thing  has  disap- 
peared since  my  rooms  are  class  property. 

Ruth.  [Sits.]  You  have  a  double  suite, 
haven't  you,  but  no  room-mate? 

Dave.  My  room-mate  to  be  was  sick  just 
as  college  opened  this  fall,  so  I  am  left  com- 
panionless  for  the  rest  of  the  year.  We  use 
that  empty  bed-room  for  class  properties. 

Ruth.  And  these  are  the  costumes  and 
flowers  for  the  play.  They  will  be  very 
effective.    You  love  to  act,  don't  you? 

Dave.    Yes,  it  is  great  fun. 

Ruth.  Doesn't  it  mean  anything  more 
than  fun  to  you  ? 

Dave.  [Arrested  action  with  tea-cup.] 
In  what  way? 

Ruth.    You  have  a  dramatic  mouth. 

Dave.    Have  I?    What  is  it  like? 

Ruth.  Your  mirror  will  answer  that 
question  better  than  I  can.  You  have  a 
great  deal  of  temperament — 

174 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

DwE.  Yes,  I  know  that;  Constance  says 
I  hug  her  too  tight  in  the  love  scene. 

EuTPT.  [Laughs.]  I  thought  I  under- 
stood you.  We  were  talking  about  your  act- 
ing after  we  had  watched  the  rehearsal  last 
night  and  ended  with  a  heated  discussion. 
T  claimed  you  acted  with  fire,  enthusiasm 
and  delight,  gaining  your  artistic  and  real- 
istic effects  through  the  senses  rather  than 
through  real  understanding  of  technic ;  you 
accept  with  pleasure  any  part  the  commit- 
tee gives  you,  memorize  the  lines  in  odd 
moments,  and  interpret  them  only  at  the  re- 
hearsals, hy  which  I  mean,  you  don't  lock 
yourself  in  this  room,  for  instance,  and 
study  every  sentence  of  your  part  with  ac- 
companying gestures,  study  the  meaning  of 
every  word,  its  value  in  regard  to  the  whole 
play,  its  psychological  significance. 

Dave.    Oh,  dear  no ;  nobody  does  that. 

EuTH.    An  actress  must. 

Dave.  I  suppose  so,  but  I  can't  pretend 
to  be  one;  if  I  had  to  do  all  that  work  I'd 
never  want  to  be  in  a  play;  I'd  lose  all  the 
fun  of  it;  they  just  give  me  the  leading- 
parts  because  I'm  not  afraid  to  be  the  dash- 
ing lover. 

175 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

EuTH.  You  play  your  part  in  this  play 
better  than  you  did  David  Garrick. 

Dave.  What  was  wrong  with  my  David 
Garrick  ? 

EuTH.  You  had  too  much  of  the  dash- 
ing hero  in  your  interpretation  and  not 
enough  of  the  polished  subtlety  of  the  gen- 
tleman. 

Dave.    How  do  you  know  all  that? 
EuTH.     I  played   the   part   during  my 
senior  year  at  prep  school. 

T)kte.  How  could  you?  You  don't  look 
big  enough. 

EuTH.  I  wore  French-heeled  slippers  in- 
side of  high-heeled  boots, 

Dave.    How  could  you  walk? 

EuTH.  It  wasn't  very  comfortable,  but 
the  weight  on  my  feet  gave  me  a  manly 
stride  and  then  a  wig  and  make-up  utterly 
disguised  me. 

Dave.  T  didn't  know  you  could  act ;  why 
haven 't  you  been  in  some  of  our  plays  ? 

EuTH.  For  several  reasons;  because  I 
didn't  have  enough  courage  freshman  year 
to  try  for  a  part  when  you  girls  did;  sec- 

176 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

ondly,  I  lost  interest  wlien  I  saw  how  many 
were  anxious  to  play,  and,  thirdly,  because 
I  have  never  been  asked. 

Dave.  You  can't  afford  to  wait  until  you 
are  asked  at  college.  It  is  a  case  of  the  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest. 

Ruth.  A  truth  I  learned  too  late.  Girls 
who  made  hits  in  our  first  play  have  been 
cast  and  recast  for  each  one  following,  and 
with  justice,  for  they  deserve  them.  I 
couldn't  ask  to  be  given  a  part  now  without 
taking  it  away  from  some  other  girl  whom 
the  class  favors.  It  was  my  fault  that  I 
missed  the  first  chance. 

Dave.  Why  not  offer  yourself  as  an  un- 
derstudy? 

Ruth.  I  have  learned  all  the  parts  in  the 
play  and  watched  almost  every  rehearsal 
for  the  practice,  to  be  ready  in  case  some 
girl  could  not  play. 

Dave.    How  vou  must  love  work. 

Ruth.  [Laughs.]  It  isn't  work;  it  is 
art ;  and  the  study  of  art  is  pleasure. 

Dave.  Did  you  really  lock  yourself  in 
your  room  and  learn  every  part  with  its 

177 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

psychological  insig  and   so  forth  and  all 
those  other  things  you  said,  just  for  fun? 
EuTH.    [Laughs.]    Yes. 

Da\^.  So  much  work  ought  not  to  go  to 
waste;  why  aren't  you  out  working  for 
the  class  instead  of  hiding  yourself  away 
from  us? 

EuTH.  [Soherhf.]  That  is  one  of  the 
problems  of  life,  Dave ;  some  of  us  feel  we 
could  do  great  things  if  we  had  the  encour- 
agement and  strength  of  a  powerful  person 
to  urge  us  on,  hut  lacking  which  would 
rather  never  strive  than  undergo  the  tor- 
ture of  a  possible  failure. 

Dave.  But  you  couldn't  fail;  you  know 
too  much. 

EuTH.  If  you  had  said  that  to  me  last 
year  at  the  great  moment  I  should  have  had 
the  courage  to  try  for  a  part. 

Dave.  Don't  think  so  much ;  go  ahead  as 
I  do;  have  a  good  time  and  don't  worry; 
assert  yourself  and  don't  introspect;  work 
for  the  class;  you  have  duties  toward  it. 

EuTH.  If  I  have  duties  toward  the  class, 
has  it  none  toward  me? 

Dave.    How? 

178 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

EuTH.  Granted  I  have  never  proved  my- 
self brilliant,  ought  not  the  class  to  give 
me,  every  girl,  the  chance  to  show  what  is 
in  her? 

Da\-e.    But  how? 

Ruth.  Put  different  girls  on  committees 
instead  of  the  same  ones  each  time. 

Dave.  The  ones  reappointed  are  proved 
efficient;  it  costs  too  much  to  pay  for  the 
blunders  of  the  inexperienced.  Success 
doesn't  seek  people  in  the  world,  you  know, 
and  college  is  a  world  in  miniature  form. 
You  have  to  conquer  sensitiveness  and 
fight. 

Ruth.  There  is  too  much  of  this  sensi- 
tiveness concealing  a  wealth  of  greatness 
in  more  girls  than  you  dream  of,  Dave ;  all 
they  need  is  the  chance  and  encouragement; 
but  the  chances  are  seized  by  the  self- 
assertive  few,  who,  having  gained  the  high- 
est honors  that  are  offered  here,  look  upon 
their  less  fortunate,  less  courageous,  neigh- 
bors as  not  worthy  of  consideration. 

Dave.  You  mean  the  girls  are  not — 
cordial — I  am  sorry — I — 

Ruth.    You  misunderstand  me;   1   am 

179 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

merely  defending  myself  from  your  accusa- 
tion that  I  am  not  interested  in  the  class ; 
I  am  not  interested  because  it  will  not  let 
me  be ;  as  for  the  childish  snobbishness  of 
some  of  the  girls,  it  only  amuses  me ;  it  so 
belittles  them  in  my  estimation  that  their 
cuts  cannot  draw  blood. 

Dave.    T  wish  they  could  hear  you  say  so. 

EuTH.  Their  actions  only  indicate  small 
minds,  while  your  courtesy — well — if  you 
should  see  fit  to  cut  me — it  would  hurt. 

Dave.  They  don't  really  mean  anything 
by  it ;  please  forgive  them  for  my  sake,  be- 
cause they  are  my  friends. 

Ruth.  I  cannot  forgive  them,  because 
they  have  not  hurt  me ;  we  can  only  forgive 
when  we  feel  we  have  been  wronged ;  I  have 
my  own  diffidence  to  blame.  When  I  en- 
tered as  a  freshman  last  year  and  read  all 
about  the  girls  who  had  lived  in  my  room 
for  the  past  twenty-five  years,  girls,  most 
of  whom,  had  led  ''big"  lives  at  college  in 
their  day,  I  felt  it  was  my  duty  to  be  a 
*'big"  girl  in  turn;  all  last  year  I  hoped 
and  waited  for  an  opportunity  and  when 
none  came  I  was  a  coward  and  gave  up. 

180 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  [Follows  Ruth  to  brass  plates  on 
wall.]  You  missed  your  opportunity. 
[Looks  at  plate.]  Some  of  these  girls  didn't. 
Harriet  Jenkins,  whose  name  is  engraved 
here,  1894-1898,  was  president  of  her  class, 
secretary  of  Undergraduate  Association 
and  president  of  the  Religious  League. 
Eose  Langton,  1899-1900,  only  remained  in 
this  room  a  year,  but  she  is  the  novelist  of 
that  name  we  all  know  so  well.  Her  room- 
mate, Cicely  Divers,  was  one  of  the  best 
actresses  ever  seen  in  college;  Frances 
Warner  and  Frances  Stewart,  room-mates 
1902-1906,  known  as  the  "Twins,"  were 
presidents  of  their  class  and  basket  ball 
stars, 

Ruth.  Do  you  know  about  the  girls  way 
back  there  in  18891 

Dave.  Oh,  dear  no;  I  haven't  had  time 
to  hunt  up  their  histories. 

Ruth.  You  ought  to ;  it  is  very  interest- 
ing ;  I  have  written  a  little  record  all  about 
my  predecessors,  getting  my  facts  about 
them  from  old  college  magazines,  trophies 
and  pictures;  and  then  I  have  written  to 
those  who  have  no  friends  here  to  tell  me 


181 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

about  tliem.  Just  think  of  the  different 
kinds  of  girls  that  have  lived  within  these 
four  walls  which  you  consider  your  very 
own  now.  They  in  their  time  felt  their 
ownership  and  returning  to-day  would  look 
upon  you  as  the  usurper. 

Dave.    I  never  thought  of  that. 

Ruth.  Sometimes  when  I  am  in  my  room 
alone,  I  conjure  up  before  me  scenes  that 
might  have  taken  place  there;  I  begin  in 
1889  with  a  girl  named  Julianna,  who  was 
rather  pretty,  judging  from  her  pictures; 
of  course,  her  nick-name  must  have  been 
Jule ;  I  try  to  imagine  what  college  was  like 
then  and  how  the  girls  dressed,  and  if  it 
makes  them  very  home-sick  to  come  back 
and  see  everything  so  changed  and  find 
girls  entirely  out  of  sympathy  with  them 
living  in  their  rooms;  when  they  come  back 
after  all  these  years  they  go  to  the  old 
room,  seeking  there  the  memories  of  their 
college  life  and  friendships,  and  find  green 
curtains  at  the  windows  where  their  red 
ones  used  to  hang,  and  photographs  of 
strange  faces  where  the  familiar  ones  used 
to  smile  at  them;  a  stranger  is  living  in 


182 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

their  room  and  they  go  away  feeling  that 
in  all  the  college  there  is  nothing  left  to 
them — but  memories ;  I  don 't  want  to  make 
them  feel  that  way,  so  I've  hung  a  little 
sign  of  ''Welcome"  on  my  door.  [Pause 
of  mutual  understanding.]  .Will  you  come? 

Heavy.  [Enters,  frying  pan  in  hand,  hig 
apron  about  her.]  The  steak  is  done,  Dave, 
and  it  is  great ;  it  almost  fell  out  when  we 
turned  it  over,  but  we  landed  it  finally. 
[Exit  Ruth  quietly.]    It  is  a  peach  now. 

Cute.    We  have  the  best  things  to  eat. 

Constance.    Isn't  this  fun? 

Bunny.  [Putting  food  on  table.]  We 
didn't  have  enough  money,  Dave,  to  pay 
for  the  things,  so  we  charged  them  to  you 
and  will  settle  up  at  the  end  of  the  month. 

Abc.    a  friend  of  Cute's  met  us  in  the 
village  and  took  us  home  in  his  machine. 
TLeavy.    Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  !  ! 

Girls,  [Astonished  at  sudden  mirth.] 
AVhat's  the  matter  with  you? 

Heavy.  I  just  thought  of  a  joke.  If  an 
automobile  is  more  expensive  than  an  elec- 
tric, why  should  gasoline  be  more  expen- 
sive than  electricity  ? 

183 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Girls.    Give  it  up,  give  it  up. 

HEA^^.    One  has  to  be  paid  for  and  tlie 
other  is  only  charged !  !  ! 

[Hilarious  laughter  as  curtain  falls.] 


184 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 


ACT  11. 

Scene  1.  Behind  the  scenes.  A  table 
decked  ivith  make-up.  Old  mirror  on  it; 
a  feiv  chairs.    Hammering  heard  off. 

Abc.  \Off.'\  There  that  will  hold  now. 
[Hammering  ceases.] 

EuTH.  [Off.]  Look  out  for  your  head, 
we  are  going  to  swing  down  the  back  drop ; 
catch  that  rope,  Kate — wait  a  moment; 
that's  it. 

Abc.  Now  for  the  sails.  [Hammering 
heard.] 

[Enter  Cute  and  Mrs.  M.  from  L.,  cross 
toward  R.  as  if  going  to  stage.] 
Cute.  It  isn't  very  clean  in  the  wings, 
Mrs.  McNab,  but  Dave  thought  you  would 
enjoy  seeing  how  our  plays  are  managed. 
I'll  take  you  across  the  stage  to  the  dress- 
ing room  where  Dave  is  now. 

Abc.  [Off.]  Be  careful — a  little  more 
to  the  right — 

Cute.  [Looking  off  B.]  We'll  have  to 
wait  a  moment,  until  they  get  that  mast  in 
place;   you   see   the  boat  has   just   come 

185 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

througlD  a  "bad  storm,  by  whicli  the  sails 
have  been  torn  and  the  yards  broken. 

Mrs.  M.  [Holding  up  skirt.]  And  you 
painted  tliat  scenery 

Cute.    Doesn't  it  look  like  a  galley? 

Mrs.  M.  Indeed  it  does ;  and  the  bit  of 
sky  in  the  distance  is  excellent.  You  are 
very  ingenious,  Miss — Miss — 

Cute.    Make  it  Cute. 

Mrs.  M.    Very  ingenious,  Miss  Cute. 

Abc.    [Off.]  Steady — steady — look  out — 

Mrs.  M.  T  am  impatent  to  see  Dave  act. 
What  is  she?    A  prince? 

Cute.  No,  she  is  Bertrand  D'Allamon, 
a  knight  and  troubadour,  who  falls  in  love 
with  a  princess,  IMelissinde — that's  Con- 
stance; don't  you  know  the  plot? 

Mrs.  M.  Dave  has  been  too  busv  to  re- 
late  it;  I  asked  her  to,  yesterday,  when  I 
was  doing  her  mending  in  her  study,  but 
she  refused.  The  poor  child  was  too  em- 
barrassed. My  dear,  she  knows  nothing 
about  acting.  College  dramatics,  Miss  Cute, 
are  only  amateur  after  all. 

186 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Cute — They  niay  surprise  you  as  much 
as  everything  else  in  college, 

Mes.  M.  Well,  well;  then  I  am  not  yet 
fuUy  initiated? 

Cute.     [Lai(glis.]     Not  yet. 

Mes.  M.  Does  Dave  fall  in  love  with  the 
princess  and  does  she  marry  her  in  the 
end? 

Cute.  No,  it  is  very  sad ;  that  is  the  part 
I  don't  like  about  it.  You  see,  Joffroy 
Rudel,  a  prince,  is  in  love  with  Melissinde, 
whom  he  has  heard  about  and  dreamed  of 
and  praised  in  his  songs.  He  becomes  so 
ill  with  longing  to  behold  her  beauty  that 
when  his  galley  [points],  first  act,  nears 
Tripoli,  he  is  too  near  death  to  land;  Ber- 
trand,  that's  Dave,  goes  to  implore  Melis- 
sinde to  come  to  Eudel.  Although  all  this 
time  Melissinde  has  known  Eudel 's  songs 
about  her  and  has  loved  him  in  return,  she 
falls  in  love  with  Bertand ;  then  it  is  a  case 
of  ''Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself, 
John?" 

Mrs.  M.     What  happens  then? 
Cute.     Love  scene,  a  thriller;  followed 
by  deep  remorse  for  their  treason  toward 


187 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Budel  when  they  believe  him  dead,  the  sig- 
nal of  his  death  was  to  be  a  black  flag 
hoisted  on  his  ship ;  but  the  black  flag  turns 
out  to  be  mourning  for  The  Knight — 
Whose- Arms- Are-Green ;  Eudel  is  still 
alive  and  Bertrand  and  Melissinde  much 
relieved  go  to  him  for  pardon;  when  they 
get  your  emotions  to  this  wuzzey  state,  the 
curtain  falls  on  my  palace  scenery.  Wait 
until  you  see  that  palace  scenery — 

Mes.  M.     Do  they  kill  each  other? 

Cute.  No,  everything  is  confessed.  Ru- 
del  dies  in  peace,  having  seen  his  princess, 
that  is  all  his  ideal,  you  know.  Melissinde 
retires  to  Mount  Carmel  and  sends  Ber- 
trand to  ''battle  for  the  Cross."  I  wish 
they  had  married.  [Enter  Ruth  and  Ellen 
with  divan.]  Are  you  going  to  put  that 
here? 

Ruth.  Abe  said  to  bring  the  palace 
properties  in  here. 

Cute.  The  first  act  is  almost  set ;  I  guess 
we  can  may  cross  now  Mrs.  McNab. 

Mrs.  M.  I  shall  hold  up  my  skirt.  [Ex- 
eunt Mrs.  M.  and  Cute  R.] 

188 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Ellen.  This  is  the  last  bit  of  scene- 
shifting  I  am  going  to  do,  Ruth. 

Ruth.  The  play  begins  in  an  hour,  you 
cannot  be  a  deserter  to  your  class  now. 
The  girls  who  act  must  not  shift  the  scenes 
and  carry  property;  that  work  must  be 
done  by  the  rest  of  the  class.  [Put  divan 
down.] 

Ellen.  We  are  welcome  to  the  un- 
grateful responsibilities;  I  shall  always 
regret  that  you  are  not  in  this  cast. 

Ruth.  Oh,  Ellen,  your  heart  is  just  a 
little  bruised,  and  you  a  little  jealous  and 
a  little  unkind;  jealous  of  the  girls  who 
have  shown  that  they  could  act,  that  they 
oould  score  a  dramatic  success  for  the 
class,  unkind  in  that  your  harbor  against 
them  a  hatred  they  do  not  feel  for  you. 

Ellen.  If  they  did  not  hate  me  they 
would  not  cut  me ;  the  other  day  I  went  all 
the  way  to  town  to  do  their  shopping ;  Abe 
was  very  sweet  when  she  asked  me,  but  the 
next  day  she  gave  me  the  coolest  kind  of  a 
nod. 

Ruth.  You  should  not  have  gone ;  I  re- 
fused. 

189 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Ellen.  I  was  delighted  to  be  of  service 
to  the  class. 

Ruth.  It  was  magnanimous  of  you  to 
go,  dear;  Abe's  attitude  in  return  only 
proves  that  she  is  your  inferior,  not  worthy 
of  your  respect,  and  hence  not  worthy  of 
your  ill-feeling.  If  in  her  position  as  man- 
ager she  asks  you  to  help  with  the  stage 
setting,  you  are  serving  not  her,  but  the 
class;  the  shopping  the  other  day  was  a 
more  personal  matter,  and  for  that  reason 
you  should  not  have  gone. 

Ellen.  I  thought  she  might  like  me 
better  for  it. 

Ruth.  But  why  try  to  buy  Abe's  good 
will?  You  dislike  her  as  much  as  I  do; 
because  you  think  she  can  help  you  to 
know  the  influential  girls  in  the  class? 
Friendship  that  can  be  bought  is  never 
true.  You  cheapen  ,its  value  when  you 
barter  yourself-respect  for  it. 

Ellen.  I  don't  care  so  much  about  the 
girls,  Ruth;  only  it  hurts  to  see  the  class 
run  by  a  few  who  believe  themselves  the 
only  capable  creatures  in  college.  I  could 
make  a  good  president  myself  if  I  had  the 

190 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

chance,  but  I  am  lost  like  a  needle  in  a  hay- 
stack ;  here  you  are  moving  furniture  when 
you  should  be  playing  the  hero. 

EuTH.    Oh,  no,  Dave  is  the  hero. 

Ellen.  Yes,  that  is  true;  I  worship 
her,  especially  since  she  has  been  so  nice 
to  you.  I  know  she  doesn't  care  if  I  am 
in  the  world  or  not,  really,  but  she  is  nice 
about  greeting;  if  she  is  indifferent,  at 
least,  she  doesn't  hate  me. 

Ruth.  Why  should  the  girls  hate  you, 
dear?  They  are  too  preoccupied  with 
their  own  affairs  to  think  of  us.  Our  lit- 
tle band  of  friends  is  a  close  and  strong 
one;  we  love  you  for  yourself  and  not  for 
anything  you  have  done;  come,  let  us  see 
how  nicely  we  can  help  with  the  stage  set- 
ting; we  may  prove  to  be  so  helpful  that 
our  latent  abilities  cannot  fail  to  be  recog- 
nized. 

Ellen.  There  isn't  any  one  in  college 
like  you,  Ruth;  if  you  were  only  appre- 
ciated as  you  deserve;  somehow  troubles 
which  seem  very  big  and  ugly  to  me  dwin- 
dle to  the  petty  after  a  talk  with  you. 

Ruth.     Do  they  really  ?     Then,  perhaps, 

191 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

I  have  been  able  to  do  a  little  something 
after  all. 

Dave.  [Enters  in  costume,  brown  vel- 
vet, doublet  and  hose,  cape,  ivears  dark 
hair  in  curls  to  shoulder;  small  brown  vel- 
vet cap  ivith  jaunty  quill;  and  Mrs.  M., 
talking  as  they  enter.]  I  am  glad  you  like 
the  costume,  aunt.  Do  you  think  you  can 
find  your  way  out  alone?  [Cross  L.] 
Down  that  little  step,  through  the  passage- 
way and  then  turn  right.  It  is  early,  but 
perhaps  you  had  better  not  stay  away  too 
long.  Remember  the  Junior  I  introduced 
you  to  will  meet  you  at  the  entrance  at 
quarter  to  eight,  and  will  sit  next  to  you 
during  the  play ;  I  think  you  are  not  going 
to  be  bored. 

Mrs,  M.  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  be 
bored  for  one  moment  since  I  have  been 
here.  Do  not  worry  about  me;  play  well 
and  don't  disgrace  us. 

Dave.     The  turn  to  the  right. 

Mrs.  M.  My  dear,  the  turn  to  the  left 
would  bring  me  to  the  swimming  pool!!! 
[Exit.] 


192 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.  [Laughs.]  Oh,  aunt  knows  all 
about  college  now. 

Ellen.  You  are  adorable  in  that  cos- 
tume. 

Dave.  Thank  you.  Euth,  would  you 
mind  going  through  some  of  those  scenes 
again  1  You  have  given  me  so  many  point- 
ers about  technique  that  I  am  scared  to 
death  I  am  playing  everything  wrong.  Let 
me  try  the  poem  first. 

Euth.  Where  you  are  encouraging  the 
exhausted  sailors?  Very  well,  I'll  give 
you  the  cue.  ''You  have  so  oft  on  days 
when  we  despaired,  so  often  told  us  how 
the  Princess  is." 

Dave.  [Standing  center,  recites  poet- 
ically, lyrically,  rising  to  enthusiasm.] 

"Once  more,  then,  hear  of  all  that's  fair, 
And,  sailors,  let  your  spirits  rise! 

The  sunlight  plays  around  her  hair. 
The  moonlight  dreams  within  her  eyes! 

Wlien  through  her  tresses'  waving  shades 
Her  beauty  shines,  subdued  and  deep, 

All  men  in  love  are  renegades. 
All  mistresses  are  called  to  weep. 

193 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY, 

A  charm  that's  real,  with  trace  so  faint, 
Makes  hers  alone  a  grace  that's  true; 

A  grace  that  would  become  a  Saint 
Who'd  be  a  strange  Enchantress,  too! 

Her  manners  captivate  and  strike, 
Her  power  conquers  everything; 

Her  attitudes  are  flower-like. 

Her  intonations  songs  of  spring! 

Such,  in  her  pretty  oddity 

That's  French,  but  tinged  with  Moabite, 
Is  Melissinde,  the  rareity 

That  dwells  in  Tripoli  and  light ! 

Ruth.    Good. 

Ellen.     Oh,  that's  adorable! 

Ruth.  You  will  show  even  more  en- 
thusiasm when  the  audience  is  there  to  in- 
spire you.    What  next? 

Dave.  The  ending  of  act  two,  where  I 
plead  to  Melissinde  for  Eudel  and  she  re- 
fuses to  come  because  she  has  fallen  in 
love  with  me.  You  take  Constance's  part. 
[In  character.]  '^Alas!  We  dare  not 
even  bear  him  hear!" 

Ruth.  You  didn't  feel  that  *'alas"  a 
bit. 

194 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Dave.     Didn't  I?     How  is  this?    Alas! 

Ruth.     Tliat   sounds   as  if  you  had  a 
pain. 

Dave.      [Laughs.]      Alas — alas — alas — 
alas — how's  that? 

Ruth.     Oh,  why  did  you  spoil  the  last 

Dave. — 
Alas  by  speaking?     That  was  artistic. 
"Alas!    We  dare  not  even  bear  him  hear! 
Come,  Princess,  with  a  name  mellifluous, 
So  he  shall  know  in  life  what  heaven  is. ' ' 

Ruth.     [Dratving  hack;  in  character  of 
Melissinde.]     ''You  speak  of  whom?" 

Dave. — 
''Of  this  Joffroy  Rudel, 
Whose  dying  moment  has  arrived — of  him 
Whose  love  you  said  you  loved. 
Make  haste !     I  promised ! ' ' 

Ruth.     "But — but    you,     Sir     Knight, 
who  are  you  then?" 

Dave.      "Bertrand     d'Allamanon,     his 
brother,  friend — come  on  then  quickly!" 

Ruth.     [Voice  dramatic,  down  the  whole 
scale  in  almost  defiant.]  "No!"    [Pause.] 

Dave.     [Awed.]     You  are  an  artist. 

195 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Ruth.  [As  if  coming  hack  to  earth.] 
The  other  scene,  too?  You  were  a  little 
afraid  of  it  last  night. 

Dave.  That  was  because  I  was  playing 
with  Constance  at  the  rehearsal ;  it  is  easier 
to  play  up  to  you ;  you  carry  me  with  you. 

Ruth.     Shall  we  skip  to  the  scene  where 
Bertrand  is  afraid  to  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow for  fear  of  seeing  the  black  flag  sig- 
nalling Rudel's  death  out  at  seal 
''So  that  I  can  be  yours,  be  thine,  I  will. 
Not  see  Rudel!     I  will  not  go  to  him!" 

Dave.  "That  window,  open  seaward, 
frightens  me." 

Ruth.  Go  forward  on  that  anxiously. 
You  want  to  look  out  and  yet  you  are 
afraid  the  sail  is  black. 

Dave.  "That  window,  open  seaward, 
frightens  me." 

Ruth.     [Runs    to    pantomime    tuindoiv, 
closes  it,  leans  back  against  it.] 
"Well,   now   it's   closed! — And   thou   art 

mine  to  keep! 
It's  closed  and  shall  not  open  again! 
Now  let's  forget!     This  palace  is  a  world! 
Who  ever  spoke  of  galleys,  of  Rudel? 

196 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

No  living  soul!  Naught's  true  but  our 
love! 

Beyond  this  window  here,  the  golden  beach 

Extends  toward  the  blue;  no  galley's 
there ! 

Some  day,  far  off,  when  we  shall  open  it, 

The  window '11  show  but  light,  and  noth- 
ing more. 

And  then  we'll  laugh.  What  childish 
story's  this 

About  the  hoisting  of  a  sail  that's  black? 

An  idle  tale,  Bertrand! — the  window's 
closed!" 

Dave.     ''You  speak  forever  of  that  win- 
dow  there!" 

Ruth.     ''  'Tis  false!     I  see  it    not— I 
love  thee  so!     Thou  knowest  that-=-" 

Dave.     "Thy  voice  enraptures  me!" 

Ruth.     ''The  sea  wind's  blown  the  win- 
dow open,  look!" 

Dave.     "The  window  open—" 

Ruth.    "Close  it!" 

Dave.     "No — I  fear — 
Too  much  I'd  see,  perhaps,  a  sail  that's 
black!" 


197 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Ruth.  ''Then  look  aside,  and  close  it 
rapidly. ' ' 

Dave.  ' '  No,  no ;  I  f  oel  I  'd  look  ahead ! ' ' 
Cute.  [Enters,  interrupting  quickly.] 
Dave,  the  girls  want  yon  to  make  them  up ; 
can't  yon,  come  now?  [Dave  and  Ruth 
start  as  if  recalled  to  the  present.]  And 
here,  has  one  of  you  time  to  mend  this 
drapery? 

Ruth.    I'll  do  it. 

Dave.     Ellen,  will  you  come  with  me! 

[Exeunt  Dave  and  Ellen  R.] 

Dave.    Thanks,  Euth.     [Exit.] 

Cute.  [Runs  across  to  L.]  I  wish  I  had 
ten  hands  and  sixteen  feet.  [Exits  in 
hurry.] 

[Enter  from  L.,  Heavy  in  costume  of 
Erasmus,  Bunny  in  costume  of  So- 
rismonde,  and  Constance  in  costume 
and  light  wig.] 

Constance.  I  can't  do  it,  I  have  never 
been  so  nervous,  and  my  throat  aches  hor- 
ribly; I  am  not  going  to  be  able  to  play 
well. 

Bunny.    Yes,  you  are.    You  cut  up  this 

198 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

way  before  every  play,  so  we  are  used  to 
it.    Take  a  lozenge. 

Constance.    I  am  not  made  up. 

Heavy.  I'll  do  it  for  you.  [Walks  to 
tahle.[ 

Constance.  Don't  touch  me;  Heavy 
Durkin,  you  are  just  as  nervous  as  you 
can  be. 

Heavy.  Pshaw!  I'm  not,  either,  I  am 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber. 

Constance.  Your  hands  are  as  cold  as 
ice.  Don't  touch  me.  [Shivers.]  I'll 
never  get  through  it ;  I  wish  I  were  in  bed. 

Bunny.  You  would  be  the  last  one  to 
give  up  the  part. 

Constance.  Who  said  I  was  going  to 
give  it  up!  You'll  see  me  dead  first  I 
Where  is  that  rabbit's  foot! 

Bunny.     I'll  help  you. 

Hea^^'.       [Bites    her    thumh,    umnders 
about  room  nervously,  muttering.'] 
*'Now,  when  I  joined  his  household,  gentle 

Prince, 
I  meant  to  live  in  peace  beneath  his  roof. 
One  eve,  at  supper  time,  just  as  the  knife, 

199 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

The  carver's,  sought  a  luscious  turkey *s 

breast, 
And  then  and  there,   to  speak  of  Melis- 

sinde." 

Constance.  Oh,  Bunny,  not  that  way; 
it  makes  me  look  hollow-cheeked. 

Heavy.  ''What  is  it  now  that  moves 
within  my  throat?  {Shouts.']  Hurrah! 
[Girls  jump.]     I  shouted,  too!" 

Constance.  Heavy,  stop  being  nervous ! 
Bunny,  you  don't  know  anything  about 
make-up.    Why  doesn't  Dave  come? 

EuTH.    May  I  help  you? 

Constance.  [Surprised.]  You?  Indeed, 
no.    You  don't  know  anything  about  it. 

Ruth.    I  have  had  some  experience. 

Constance.  Well,  you  can't  daub 
around  on  me.  Heavy,  for  mercy  sakes, 
stop  pacing  up  and  down.  You  make  me 
want  to  scream. 

Cute.  [Enters  in  haste  from  L.,  with 
hunch  of  big  paper  lilies  which  she  puts  on 
divan.]  I  wish  I  were  a  centipede.  [Exit 
R.] 

Heavy.     [Looking    off  R.   after  Cute.] 

200 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Cute  looks  busy.     Say,  but  the  scenery  is 
great !    We  are  going  to  make  a  bit ! 

Abc.  [Enters  from  R.]  Well,  here  you 
are;  wby  didn't  go  into  the  big  dressing 
room? 

Bunny.  Too  many  girls;  we  want  to 
keep  Constance  quiet. 

Abc.  {Alarmed.']  What's  the  matter 
with  her? 

Bunny.  The  same  old  attacks,  that's 
all ;  she  can 't  talk  awfully  well,  because  of 
her  sore  throat. 

Abc.     Dose  her;  she  has  to  play. 

Constance.     Oh,  I'll  play! 

Abc.  I'll  never  be  manager  again.  I 
am  going  mad.  Not  a  girl  ready  for  the 
rehearsal  and  the  audience  is  to  be  here  in 
half  an  hour.  Now  the  curtain  is  stuck  and 
we  had  to  send  for  the  carpenter.  Don't 
miss  your  cues,  and  do  give  the  right 
ones.  You  got  into  an  awful  mess  yester- 
day, Heavy  and  Bunny,  speak  distinctly. 
Constance,  you  must  cross  on  that  one  line 
or  you  will  put  Dave  out.  Heavy,  stop  be- 
ing nervous ! 

201 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Heavy.  I  am  not  nervous,  I  am  a  per- 
fect lamb. 

Constance.  She  has  been  pacing  up  and 
down  here  like  a  tiger  in  his  cage.  She 
sets  my  teeth  on  edge. 

Abc.  Constance,  gracious  goodness ! 
take  off  that  wig. 

Constance.  The  princess  must  have 
light  hair. 

Abc.  Well,  you  are  a  sight,  the  whole 
class  thinks  so.  Who  is  going  to  make 
you  up! 

Constance.    Dave  promised  to. 

Abc.  Well,  someone  else  has  to  do  it; 
Dave  is  busv  with  the  rest  of  the  cast. 
Can't  you  do  it.  Heavy? 

Heavy.  I  have  tried  to,  but  Constance 
objects  to  Bunny's  temperament  and  to 
my  temperature. 

Ruth.  [Rises.']  I  have  offered  to  make 
Constance  up. 

Abc.  You?  You  don't  know  anything 
about  it. 

Constance.     I  won't  have  her  touch  me. 

Ruth.    When  a  brunette  wishes  to  make 


202 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

up  as  a  blond,  a  little  more  is  needed  than 
a  pot  of  rouge;  I  could  make  a  blond  wig 
very  becoming  to  you.  I  regret  for  your 
sake  that  my  offer  did  not  meet  with  a 
more  courteous  reply. 

Constance.  It  is  none  of  your  business, 
I  am  sure.  I  don't  even  know  your  name 
and  I  don't  care  to  know  it.  I  don't  care 
to  talk  to  you;  as  for  your  impudence,  I'll 
not  swallow  that,  either,  do  you  hear,  [Ex- 
cited. ]  — you — you — 

Abc.  [To  Constance.']  Be  quiet.  [To 
Ruth.]  What  do  you  mean  by  exciting 
her?  How  do  you  expect  her  to  play  when 
you  aggravate  her  like  this  ?  The  class  has 
got  along  very  well  without  your  aid  in  its 
previous  plays  and  I  guess  it  can  do  the 
same  this  time.  You  might  as  well  be  told 
right  here  and  now  that  even  if  Dave  is 
good  natured  enough  to  let  you  thrust 
yourself  upon  her  and  hang  about  her 
room  until  she  is  sick  to  death  of  you, 
that  we  are  not  going  to  stand  for  it. 

Ruth.  I  have  never  thrust  myself  upon 
Dave  Stone,  and  when  you  say  she  is  sick 
of  me  you  are  not  saying  the  truth.  If  she 
were,  she  would  not  visit  me  in  my  room. 

203 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Abc.  Not  speaking  the  truth?  Ha,  ha! 
that  is  pretty  funny,  isn't  it,  girls'?  Of 
course,  she  would  not  let  you  know  about 
it.  Dave  is  too  good  natured  and  stupidly 
charitable  for  that.  But  we  are  not  going 
to  stand  for  your  pushing  your  way  with  us. 

Ruth.  Abc,  freshman  year  you  lived  with 
us  in  Derby  Hall  you  ate  with  us,  talked 
to  us  and  chummed  with  us.  We  were 
good  enough  for  you  until  you  found  that 
we  were  not  making  much  progress  in  the 
class,  because  chances  didn't  just  come  our 
way.  Then  you  sought  out  the  girls  who 
held  positions  in  college,  contriving  ways 
and  means  to  become  their  friend;  you 
planned  well,  you  were  clever,  you  won 
them.  Since  you  moved  to  their  hall  you 
never  see  us,  never  know  us,  because  you 
are  afraid  that  if  you  do,  you  will  weaken 
your  position  with  your  idols;  we  have 
never  said  anything  against  you,  thinking 
it  beneath  us  to  undermine  your  position, 
but  I  am  telling  your  friends  now,  because 
you  did  not  recognize  Ellen  Perry  the  day 
after  she  had  gone  to  town  to  do  your  shop- 
ping and  because,  for  one  moment,  you  made 
me  doubt  Dave's  faith  in  me,  that  you  have 

204 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

not  spoken  the  truth.  I  know  you  too  well, 
from  all  the  experiences  last  year  to  be- 
lieve you.  You  thought  you  were  pushing 
us  out  of  your  path  when  you  left  our  hall, 
you  thought  you  were  leaving  us  yearning 
for  your  companionship;  we  have  let  you 
believe  it  while  we  have  been  laughing  in 
our  sleeves;  you  didn't  leave  one  friend  be- 
hind you  in  Darby  Hall;  there  wasn't  one 
girl  there  that  voted  to  make  you  manager 
of  this  play.  There  isn't  much  truth  in  a 
girl  who  has  to  go  away  from  home  to 
make  friends;  the  highest  tribute  is  to  be 
respected  by  those  closest  about  you.  That 
respect  and  that  esteem  you  can  never  re- 
ceive from  those  who  know  you  too  well. 
[Exit.] 

Abg.    It's  not  true,  it's  not  true. 

Bunny.  Ssh!  We  have  had  enough  ex- 
citement. You  must  keep  Constance  quiet. 
[Calls  off.]  Cute,  where  is  Dave?  Tell 
her  to  hurry,  she  has  to  make  Constance 
up. 

Cute.    [Off.]    Just  a  minute. 

Abg.  I  hate  her ;  that  is  all  a  story  about 
the  hall,  there  wasn't  a  nice  girl  in  it  and 
I  wasn't  going  to  stay. 

205 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Heavy.  You  do  seem  to  have  a  keen 
appreciation  for  offices,  though,  consider- 
ing who  your  friends  are. 

Abc.  That  isn't  sv^eet  of  you  to  say, 
Heavy,  dear.     [Embraces  her.] 

Heavy.  Pshaw,  I  think  she  is  impudent 
myself. 

Constance.    I  can't  bear  to  see  her. 

Bunny.  Dog  biscuits,  what  is  the  use  of 
losing  your  temper  about  it?  [Enter  Dave 
and  Cute.]  Dave,  you  darling!  That  cos- 
tume is  stunning  on  you. 

Dave.    Do  vou  like  it? 

Heavy.  You  have  never  looked  so  hand- 
some. 

Abc.  [Embraces  Dave.]  I'm  crazy 
about  you,  Dave. 

Dave.  How  are  you  feeling,  Constance? 
I'll  make  you  up  now;  where  is  the  cream? 
[Begins.]    My,  you  are  hot ! 

Constance.  Don't  turn  my  head  like 
that,  you  hurt  my  throat. 

Dave.  I  am  sorry  you  are  feeling  so  bad, 
but  you  always  do,  you  know,  before  you 
play.     [Makes  her  up.]     Oh,  dear,  I  wish 

206 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Euth  Haggert  were  here  to  show  me  how 
to  do  this.  She  knows  all  about  it.  Cute, 
won't  you  get  her  for  me? 

Constance.  I  won't  have  her,  I'm  sick 
of  hearing  about  her.  You  wanted  her  to 
give  me  pointers  about  my  acting,  as  if  I 
didn't  know  anything  about  it  myself;  and 
as  if  I  would  take  them  from  her.  How  do 
you  know  she  can  act? 

Heavy.  Come,  hush  up  on  the  subject. 
I  am  bored  to  death  with  her  name. 

Cute.    Who  is  she,  anyway? 

Dave.    She  is  my  friend. 

Abc.  Your  friend,  your  enemy,  you 
mean.  Wait  till  you  know  her  as  I  do. 
You  haven't  lived  in  the  same  hall  with 
her,  you  haven't  learned  that  she  will  sac- 
rifice everything  to  her  ambition,  which 
she  hides  under  a  mask  of  diffidence  and 
affection.  You  think  she  has  never  sought 
to  know  you,  that  she  has  not  planned  your 
whole  friendship. 

Dave.  {Arrested  action  with  eyebrow 
pencil.']     What  do  you  mean? 

Abc.  That  Ruth  Haggert  has  schemed 
to   know   you,    that   her   coming   to   your 

207 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

rootfl  was  a  mere  excuse,  that  she  is  fawn- 
ing on  you,  flattering  you,  trying  to  use 
you  as  a  stepping-stone  to — 

Dave.  Stop!  I  will  not  listen  to  you. 
You  are  slandering  in  my  presence  a  girl 
who  is  my  friend.  Euth  came  to  my  room 
to  get  a  book  and  was  going  away  with  it 
immediately  when  I  called  her  back,  ask- 
ing her  to  sit  down  and  visit  me.  Our  pre- 
vious discussion  about  her  only  aroused 
in  me  a  curiosity  to  know  her  better.  It 
was  I  who  drew  her  out,  I  who  took  the 
first  steps  in  our  friendship.  I  had  to  take 
more  than  half,  for  she  is  sensitive  and 
diffident.  I  have  grown  to  love  her  and  be- 
lieve in  her;  that  belief  of  mine  ought  to 
inspire  you  with  respect  for  her,  at  least. 
If  you  trust  me,  as  you  make  me  believe, 
the  mere  fact  that  I  admire  her  ought  to 
command  your  courtesy.  But  this  petty 
jealousy  on  your  part  I  will  not  tolerate; 
I  would  sooner  break  with  every  one  of 
you  that  slanders  her. 

Constance.  Then  you  can  break  with 
me,  Dave  Stone!  [Enter  Ruth,  unob- 
served.]   For  there  isn't  room  for  both  of 


208 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

us  in  your  set.  Chose  between  me,  the  old 
friend,  and  this  insignificant  protege  of 
yours,  Ruth  Haggert.     [Dramatic  pause.] 

Dave.  Euth,  I  am  sorry  you  have  heard 
what  has  been  said;  Constance  didn't 
really  mean  it,  not  really;  she  will  apolo- 
gize to  you! 

Constance.    Apologize!    Never! 

Dave.  [Eyes  flashing.]  Then  I  do 
break  with  you  and  every  one  of  you  that 
doesn't  apologize  to  Ruth  for  every  word 
and  thought  she  has  ever  had  against  her. 

Abo.    Ha,  ha!  what  do  you  take  us  for? 

Cute.    Not  I — 

Bunny.    Nor  I. 

Constance.    Never,  never! 

Heavy.  [Sloivly  to  Dave.]  If  I  had  a 
friend  who  would  stand  up  for  me  like 
that  when  I  wasn't  present  to  defend  my- 
self I'd  go  down  on  my  knees  to  her.  I 
apologize  to  you  [To  Ruth.]  for  us  all. 

Dave.    [Embraces  Heavy.]    Heavy! 

Constance.  [Jumps  up.]  She  can't 
apologize  for  me,  I  won't  do  it.  I  tell  you 
I  hate  her,  never,  never!  0,  my  throat! 
[Falls  hack.] 

209 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Bunny.  Quick,  she  lias  fainted,  get  some 
water.     [Exit  Ahc] 

Cute.  No,  she  hasn't,  she  has  only  hurt 
her  throat ;  get  a  nurse  from  the  infirmary. 
What  shall  we  do? 

Dave.  [Holds  Constance's  head.]  Can't 
you  talk,  Constance?  [To  Heavy.]  They 
won't  be  able  to  hear  her. 

Abc.  [Enter  with  water.]  The  audience 
is  coming  and  we  haven't  had  a  rehearsal; 
I'm  crazy;  we  have  to  begin  in  fifteen  min- 
utes. How  are  you?  Can't  you  talk  above 
a  whisper?  What  shall  we  do,  she  can't 
play? 

Constance.  [Trying  to  get  up.]  Yes, 
I  can;  you  can't  take  a  part  away  from 
me;  I  won't  give  it  up;  please,  please. 

Heavy.  But  your  voice  can't  carry  be- 
yond the  first  row. 

Abc.  Some  one  else  has  to  take  the  book 
and  read  the  part;  take  off  the  costume, 
quick.  Whom  shall  I  get^  Here,  Cute, 
you  do  it.  Oh,  we  are  ruined,  we  are 
Tuined. 

Dave.    Ruth  Haggert  must  play  the  part. 

KuTH.     [Remonstrating    and    most  un- 

210 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

happy    that    she    has    been    the    innocent 
cause."]    No,  no. 

Abc.    Put  on  the  costume,  Cute. 

Dave.    Put  on  the  costume,  Ruth. 
{Enter  Girls  I  and  II  and  Ellen.] 

Gerl  L  The  hall  is  almost  crowded  and 
the  girls  want  you  to  begin ;  you  must  ring 
up  the  curtain. 

Dave.  Ruth  Haggert  is  the  only  girl  in 
the  class  to  play  that  part. 

Bunny.    You  are  mad! 

Abc.  I'm  manager  of  the  play  and  I  re- 
fuse to  let  her. 

Dave.  I  am  a  member  of  the  committee 
and  I  insist  upon  it. 

Abc.    The  committee  outvotes  you. 

Heavy.    I  side  with  Dave. 

Dave.    Heavy  is  for  her. 

Abc.  The  vote  is  still  3 — 2  against  you. 
The  class  will  not  have  her. 

Da\'e.    But  I  will,  do  you  hear? 

Abc  I  say  you  will  not.  What  author- 
ity have  you? 

Dave.  The  authority  of  a  success  that 
I  know  will  be  ours;  she  is  an  artist,  she 

211 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

is  three  times  a  better  actress  than  any  of 
US  here ;  and  what  is  more,  you  will  put  her 
in  because  you  refused  to  apologize,  because 
you  have  made  me  your  enemy;  because  I 
command  it. 

Abc.    I  am  manager,  I  tell  you ! 

Dave.  And  I  take  the  leading  part !  You 
will  do  as  I  command  or  I  [Takes  cap  off, 
stamps  on  it  in  fury  of  temper.']  refuse  to 
play!  !  ! 

CURTAIN. 

Scene  2.  Same  as  previous  scene.  After 
the  play.  Applause  heard  off,  cries  of 
''Bravo,  hravo,  Haggert,  hravo,  Stone, 
Haggert!"  Ellen  and  Girl  I  stand  look- 
ing off  and  listening. 

Ellen.  Ruth  is  taking  another  curtain 
call!  Oh,  wasn't  she  wonderful?  Isn't  she 
wonderful?  Listen,  all  the  upperclassmen 
are  wild  about  her;  and  a  senior  said  that 
Dave  had  never  played  so  well ;  that  is  be- 
cause Ruth  coached  her.  [Embraces  Girl.] 
Oh,  I  am  so  happy. 

GiEL.  We  never  had  such  a  success;  it 
is  an  ovation,  look  at  the  flowers.    There, 

212 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

the  curtain  lias  gone  up  again.  [Applause 
heard  off.]  Dave  wants  Euth  to  go  out 
alone  but  she  refuses ;  she  insists  upon 
dragging  Dave  out  with  her.  [To  Ellen, 
ivJio  steps  forward.]  Look  out,  the  audi- 
ence will  see  you. 

Ellen.  Not  if  I  peek  this  way.  Doesn't 
Dave  look  stuninng  in  that  costume?  Ev- 
erybody is  in  love  with  Dave. 

GiKL.  They  always  are  with  the  hero. 
The  curtain  is  going  down.  [Sigh.]  It  is 
all  over  and  I  wish  it  were  only  the  begin- 
ning, even  if  I  am  only  a  scene  shifter. 

Ellen.  And  Ruth  did  it.  She  did  it.  I 
knew  she  could.    Oh,  I  am  so  happy ! 

[Enter   Heavy,   Bunny,  Cute,  Heavy 
dancing  funny  jig.] 

Heavy.  [Singing.]  Tra-la-la-la-la.  Girls, 
it  is  a  hit !  ! 

Ellen.    Heavy,  you  were  splendid! 

Heavy.  Thanks,  I  know  it,  I  know  it! 
Ha!  [Waves  arms,  continues  jig.]  Tra- 
la-la-la-la.  [Mimics  grand  opera  star.]  I 
want  to  do  it  all  over  again,  I  want  to 
do  it  all  over  again,  again,  again,  again! 
I  cannot  live  until  next  year  when  [TriUs.] 

213 


,      THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

we  give  another  play  [Scales  and  trills.] 
pla— y. 

Bunny.  [Laughing.]  You  are  not  nerv- 
ous now. 

Heavy.  [Singing.]  Ne-er-er-er-vous?  I? 
Ne-er-erver  I!  I!  I!  ! 

Cute.  Did  you  ever  see  Dave  play  so 
wein  She  was  beautiful  against  my 
scenery.  [Hurt  tone.]  Didn't  you  like  my 
scenery?    Nobody  says  nothing  'bout  it. 

Bunny.  The  scenery,  Cute,  was  worthy 
of  Raphael  and  Titian,  if  they  had  been 
scene  painters  for  Mr.  Belasco. 

Cute.  Did  you  hear  the  oars  squeak? 
They  groaned  magnificently.  Didn't  you 
feel,  actually  feel  the  stage  move?  I  had 
to  pinch  myself  to  make  sure  that  there 
wasn't  any  water  underneath.  I  almost  got 
seasick. 

Bunny.  The  palace  was  especially  ef- 
fective. 

Cute.  Strewn  with  the  lilies  and  roses? 
Most  oriental;  and  wasn't  the  sound  of 
battle  realistic?  You  should  have  seen 
Bertrand  and  the  Knight  clashing  battle- 

214 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

axes  off  stage ;  it  really  sounded  as  if  they 
were  murdering  each  other. 

Heavy.  {Drops  into  chair;  worn  out.'] 
I'm  done  for. 

Bunny.  Dave  was  gloriously  dramatic 
when  still  panting  from  the  exertion  of 
the  fight,  she  forced  her  way  into  Melis- 
sinde's  presence. 

Heavy.  Dave's  abandonment  and  en- 
thusiasm made  her  wonderfully  magnetic. 
And  Ruth — how  she  did  it  without  missing 
a.  cue  is  beyond  me. 

Cute.  It  will  be  a  seven-day  wonder  to 
everybody.  She  has  all  the  grace,  ease 
and  charm  of  a  professional.  And  she 
played  as  if  inspired ! 

Abc.  {Enters.']  Come  out  and  help  us 
clean  off  the  stage. 

Heavy.  Not  me;  I've  done  my  work  for 
the  class.     Where  is  Dave? 

Abc.  Surrounded  by  seniors;  the  au- 
dience is  too  slow  in  getting  out ;  we  '11  have 
to  turn  the  lights  out  soon. 

Heavy.     Is  Euth  with  her? 

Abc.     {Crossly.]     Yes.     Well,   I'm  not 

215 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

going  to  do  the  work  alone;  if  you  won't 
help  I'll  quit,  too.  [Sits  doivn  as  if  tired 
and  cross.] 

Bunny.  No  need  of  rushing  now;  we'll 
help  you  clean  up  in  the  morning. 

Mes.  McNab.  [Enters.]  I  thought 
Madeline  was  with  you. 

Abc.     She'll  come  out  presently. 

Cute.  Well,  Mrs.  McNab,  what  did  you 
think  of  the  play? 

Mes.  McNab.  I  am  thoroughly  con- 
vinced. I  am  speechless!  I  congratulate 
you  all. 

Heavy.  [Sighs.]  To  think  it  is  overt 
Next  week  at  this  time  I'll  be  a  grind,  try- 
ing to  put  some  new  plates  into  this 
[Points  to  forehead.]  ^'brainograph." 

Bunny.  You  will  find  an  '^ engaged'* 
sign  on  my  door  for  a  few  days.  ''Posi- 
tively No  Admittance;  Doing  German 
Private  Eeading." 

Mes.  McNab.  I  hope  Madeline  will  fol- 
low your  example. 

Cute.  Not  Dave !  She  crams  the  night 
before  an  exam  and  always  passes  as  well 
as  we  do  who  study  longer. 

216 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Mrs.  McNab.  I  must  caution  her  to  be 
moderate;  her  enthusiasm  carries  her  to 
such  extremes. 

Heavy.  She  has  the  talent  of  grasping- 
essential  points  at  once,  and  never  spends 
time  on  learning  details  she  feels  will  not 
be  necessary  to  know  for  an  examination. 

Mrs.  McNab.  College  has  been  of  great 
benefit  to  Madeline ;  true,  she  is  not  as  neat 
as  I  should  wish,  but  I  find  she  has  made 
herself  quite  a  power  in  her  class.  I  must 
confess  I  have  quite  a  different  idea  of 
college  life  from  what  I  gathered  the  first 
afternoon. 

Bunny.  You  understand  our  motives 
better,  Mrs.  McNab. 

Mrs.  McNab.  I  appreciate  your  good 
fellowship,  and  realize  that  my  ideas  of 
college  were  too  much  identified  with  those 
of  boarding  schools.  You  live  in  quite  a 
world  of  your  own  here,  and  must  be 
judged  only  according  to  your  laws. 

Heavy'.  [Enumerating  comically.]  Col- 
lege develops  versatility,  feeds  the  intel- 
lect, sharpens  the  wits,  expands  the  inter- 
ests,   promotes    self-assurance,    cultivates 

217 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

perception,  molds  character,  teaches  con- 
icentration,  enlarges  and  hardens  back- 
bone, etc. 

Mks.  McNab.  [Laughs.]  I  did  not 
grasp  it  all,  but  I  agree  with  you.  I  shall 
insist  upon  Madeline's  coming  for  the  full 
course,  and  only  regret  I  was  deprived  in 
my  youth  of  the  same  opportunities  and 
experiences. 

[Enter  Ruth  and  Dave  in  costume,  car- 
rying flowers,  preferably  long- 
stemmed  American  Beauties,  tied 
with  ribbon.  Bunny,  Cute,  Abe, 
rush  to  embrace  Dave,  crying, 
''Dave!  Dave!''  Ellen  does  the 
same  to  Ruth.  Girls  draw  away 
from  Dave  as  Ellen  draws  away 
from  Ruth;  aivkward  pause.  Dave 
puts  out  her  hand  gallantly,  raising 
Ruth's  as  if  to  draw  her  forward.] 

Bunny.  [Extends  her  hand  to  Ruth.] 
I  congratulate  you;  it  was  a  wonderful 
triumph ! 

Cute.  I  didn't  know  you  had  it  in  you, 
but  I've  got  to  just  hug  you.  [Hugs  her 
enthusiastically.] 

218 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Ruth.  [Laughs.]  That  is  very  sweet 
of  vou. 

Mrs.  McNab.  Madeline,  I  am  over- 
whelmed; I  had  no  idea  you  could  act;  in 
fact  the  play  was  professional.  [To 
Ruth.]  I  have  not  met  you,  but  permit 
me  to  offer  you  my  sincerest  congratula- 
tions; I  heard  that  you  played  the  part 
without  rehearsal ;  your  success  is,  there- 
fore, the  more  remarkable;  every  one  who 
sat  near  me  could  not  praise  you  enough — 
Madeline,  introduce  me. 

Dave.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  McNab,  Miss  Ruth 
Haggert. 

Mrs.  McNab.  The  name  is  familiar, 
your  face  also.  Are  you  by  any  chance 
related  to  Senator  Haggert,  who  has  just 
gone  to  Washington'? 

Ruth.     He  is  my  father!    [Girls  start.] 

Abc.  [Aside.]  Why  didn 't  I  know  that 
before? 

Bunny.     But  why  didn't  you  tell  us? 

Ruth.     AVhy  should  I? 
Mrs.  McNab.     [Aside  to  Dave.]     Why 
wasn't  she  in  your  room  the  other  day? 

219 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

She  is  what  I  call  a  ''representative'*  girl. 
[To  Ruth.]  My  dear,  I  am  so  pleased  to 
meet  you.  My  sister  used  to  be  a  very 
good  friend  indeed  of  your  aunt.  I  saw 
your  resemblance  to  your  aunt  imme- 
diately. I  hope  you  and  Madeline  will  be 
great  friends,  and  you  must  visit  us  in 
Cincinnati. 

EuTH.  Thank  you,  Dave  and  I  are  good 
friends.     How  is  Constance! 

Heavy.  Tucked  away  in  the  infirmary — 
Tonsilitis ! 

EuTH.  I  am  sorry;  won't  some  one  take 
her  these  flowers  1  They  ivere  for  her,  you 
know. 

Bunny.     She  wouldn't  accept  them. 

Dave.  You  had  better  keep  them,  Enth. 
You  saved  the  class. 

EuTH.  I  am  disappointed  that  you 
think  she  would  not  take  them.  I  don't 
like  to  have  enemies.  [Looks  at  Abe. 
Aivkivard  pause.] 

Abc.  [Nervously.]  Won't  you  .ali 
come  over  to  my  room  for  tea"? 

Dave.    It  is  too  late  to-night,  but  it  was 

220 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

nice  of  you  to  ask  us.  [To  Ruth.]  Will 
you  come  home  with  me  to  spend  the  night  ? 
There  is  the  empty  bedroom  to  the  suite, 
you  know! 

EuTH.  Thank  you,  not  to-night.  I  am 
very  tired ;  some  other  time,  if  I  may. 

Ellen.  Are  you  ready,  Ruth?  Let  me 
carry  your  things. 

GiKLs  I  AND  II.    Let  me  help. 

Heavy.  Good-night,  Ruth;  I'll  come 
down  and  call  on  you  in  the  morning. 

EuTH.  Thank  you  for  giving  me  my 
lines  that  time  when  I  almost  missed  them. 

Heavy.     0,  you're  a  star. 

[Dave  ivalks  up  to  Ruth,  standing  cen- 
ter with  roses.] 

EuTH.  [Sloivly,  sincerely.]  I  could  not 
have  done  it  had  it  not  been  for  your  faith 
in  me.  [Poetically.]  Good-night,  Ber- 
trand ! 

Dave.  [Raises  her  hand  to  her  lips,  gal- 
lantly takes  off  cap,  saying  romantically.] 
Good-night,  my  Princess. 

tableau. 

CURTAIN. 

221 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 


EPILOGUE. 


Scene.  Three  years  later.  Scene,  same  as 
Act  I,  only  stripped  of  everything  but  a 
few  chairs,  hare  table  and  empty  desk. 
Half  opened  suitcase  on  chair,  hat  and 
coat  over  bach  of  same  chair.  Room  must 
look  gloomy  and  unoccupied. 

Little  Freshman.  [Sits  looking  very 
forlorn  and  unhappy.']  Mother  is  on  the 
train  now — going —  [Tears']  liome^ — there'll 
only  be  three  at  dinner  to-night  instead  of 
four — because  I'm  gone;  I'm  at  college — 
all  alone — there  isn't  anybody  that  cares 
about  me — nobody;  I'm  nothing  here  but 
just  a  little  freshman,  and  this  room  is  so 
cold  and  bare  and  quiet — I  don't  believe 
anybody  ever  laughed  in  it,  they  must  just 
have  cried — Oh,  I  want  to  go  home — I  hate 
college —  [Sob.]  I  hate  it.  [Knock  heard 
at  door,  dries  eyes,  controls  herself,  opens 
door.] 

Senior.  [With  package  and  letter.]  May 
I  come  in?  You  are  the  freshman,  aren't 
you,  who  is  going  to  have  this  suite  this 
year? 

900 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Feeshman.  Yes,  I  am;  the  girl  who  is 
to  be  my  room-mate  doesn't  return  from 
Europe  until  next  week. 

Senior.  So  I  heard;  let  me  introduce 
myself;  Ethel  Hedge,  senior.  I  live  next 
door.  You  just  came  this  morning,  didn't 
you? 

Feeshman.  Yes,  mother  has  just  left 
me;  my  furniture  hasn't  arrived  yet,  so 
the  room  doesn't  look  cheerful — 

Senioe.  Pretty  gloomy,  I  admit,  to  what 
it  has  been  with  Dave  in  it  for  the  last  few 
years.  There  wasn't  a  gayer,  more  popu- 
lar suite  in  the  whole  Hall. 

Feeshman.    Really? 

Senior.  [Going  to  hrass  plates.]  Have 
you  noticed  the  brass  plates  inscribed  with 
the  names  of  all  the  girls  who  have  lived  in 
this  suite? 

Feeshman.  [Reading.]  Madeline  Stone, 
Ruth  Haggert — 

Senior.  They  are  the  last  ones  on  the 
list,  graduated  last  year  after  rooming  to- 
gether for  two  years.  Madeline,  called  by 
every  one  Dave,  was  always  the  hero  in 
the  plays  her  class  gave  and  one  of  the 

223 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

most  popular  girls  in  college ;  brilliant,  yet 
not  a  great  student,  she  had  a  dominating 
personality  that  has  left  a  deep  impression 
on  college  morals.  There  has  never  been 
a  sweeter,  truer  girl  than  Euth  Haggert, 
daughter  of  Senator  Haggert.  She  was  a 
finished  actress  and  scored  a  wonderful 
success  sophomore  year  when  playing  a 
part  at  a  moment's  notice.  After  that  she 
was  manager  of  her  class  plays,  secretary 
of  her  class,  and  president  of  Self-Govern- 
ment  Association.  Always  modest,  she  had 
an  inner  strength  of  endurance  that  made 
itself  felt  and  endeared  her  to  the  whole 
college.  She  asked  me  to  give  this  note- 
book to  the  girl  who  was  to  take  this  room, 
should  she  be  a  freshman. 

Feeshman.    [Takes  it.]    To  me? 

Senior.  It  is  a  record  Ruth  made  of  the 
girls  who  have  occupied  this  suite. 

Freshman.  [Glancing  through  book.] 
*'Mary  Blatchford,  1889-1892,  light  hair, 
blue  eyes,  called  Duchess,  because  of  her 
dignity;  was  partial  to  lavender."  How 
interesting!  There  is  a  whole  paragraph 
about  her.    [Turns  pages.]    Harriet  Jenk- 

224 


THE  CLASS  PLAT. 

ins,  1894-1898.  president  of  her  class,  1894 ; 
president  of  Undergraduate  Association, 
1897 ;  president  of  Eeligious  League,  1898 ; 
brown  eyes,  brown  bair — Eose  Langton, 
1899-1900,  tbe  novelist !  Did  she  live  bere  1 
Ob,  dear,  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  worthy  to 
succeed  all  these. 

Senior.  They  were  "big"  girls,  that  is 
true;  Ruth  Haggert  was  the  first  to  (tabu- 
late them. 

Feeshman.  {Reading.  ]  ' '  Cicely  Divers, 
1899-1902,  excellent  actress,  very  witty;  a 
great  favorite.  Frances  Warner  and 
Frances  Stewart,  room-mates,  1902-1906, 
known  as  'The  Twins,'  joresidents  of  their 
class,  F.  W.  in  1903,  F.  S.  in  1904,  and  both 
basket  ball  stars,"  The  record  ends  there. 
It  says  nothing  about  the  girls  who  were 
graduated  last  year. 

Senior.  You  must  find  out  about  them 
from  us  and  then  write  it  down.  The  book 
is  yours  now. 

Freshman.  Oh,  dear,  but  it  makes  me 
feel  so  little,  so  incapable  of  accomplishiug 
anything.  And  I — I'd  love  to  be  a  ''big" 
^irl,  too,  and  worthy  of  them. 

225 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

Senior.  [Encouragingly.']  Perhaps  you 
will  be.  I  was  to  give  you  this,  too — a 
package  and  a  letter — from  Ruth  Haggert, 
the  one  I  told  you  about. 

Freshman.  [Smiling.']  I  remember; 
Dave's  room-mate. 

Senior.  I'll  let  you  open  it  alone.  Will 
you  visit  me? 

Freshman.  Gladly ;  thank  you  for  your 
interest. 

Senior.  My  room  is  next  door.  [Exit.] 
Freshman.  [Oiiens  letter  ivonderingly, 
reads.]  ''Dear  little  freshman,  whoever 
you  are,  welcome  to  this  room;  if  you  are 
entering  college  with  many  friends  you 
may  take  but  little  interest  in  these  few 
words,  but  if  you  are  lonely  and  sad,  and, 
believe  me,  the  majority  of  your  little  fresh- 
men class-mates  are  at  this  early  stage  of 
college  life,  take  comfort  in  the  thought 
that  you  are  but  experiencing  in  your  turn 
what  most  of  us,  your  predecessors,  have 
experienced  and  overcome.  The  room  is 
not  lonely,  but  hallowed  by  associations 
that  has  endeared  it  forever  to  our  hearts ; 
every  one  of  us  has  left  a  bit  of  our  thought 

226 


THE  CLASS  PLAY. 

and  soul  there,  a  memory  of  happy  hours, 
work  and  play,  and  sweetest  of  all  memo- 
ries, our  friendships.  We  are  thinking  of 
you  and  your  little  room;  of  it,  because  it 
was  ours ;  of  you,  because  you  have  taken 
it  from  us;  because  you  in  your  turn  will 
forget  it  was  ours  and  will  love  it  all  as 
your  own.  Be  worthy  of  it  and  of  us;  be 
noble  in  deed  and  thought,  charitable  in 
speech  and  action,  a  charity  far  cheaper 
and  more  valuable  than  gold.  If  you  have 
a  talent  seek  an  opportunity  to  cultivate  it ; 
opportunities  lie  about  you ;  it  is  your  place 
to  find  them,  for  college  is  a  little  world, 
where  each  one  must  work  out  her  own  sal- 
vation. Learn  to  stand  alone  and  never 
lose  your  faith  in  self.  Do  not  shrink  for 
fear  of  failure;  have  the  courage  of  your 
convictions;  give  the  best  expression  of 
what  is  in  you  to  your  class  and  it  will 
honor  and  reward  you.  Be  able  to  feel  when 
you  bequeath  this  room  and  its  tradition  to 
the  little  freshman,  your  successor,  four 
years  from  now,  that  you  in  your  turn  had 
left  in  here  a  bit  of  the  best  that  is  in  you ; 
then  you  will  understand  what  it  means  to 
go  away,  and  you  will  love  your  'little 

227 


TEE  CLASS  PLAY. 

successor'  as  we  love  you;  you  will  sympa- 
thize with  our  thoughts  of  to-day,  when  we 
are  wondering  if  you  will  like  to  remember 
us,  if,  when  we  come  back  to  visit,  you  will 
let  us  come  in  for  just  a  moment  to  shut 
our  eyes  and  dream  the  old  days  back.  If 
you  think  you  could  share  just  that  little 
bit  of  the  room  with  us,  so  that  we  may 
know  we  are  not  unbidden  guests,  will  you 
hang  this  sign  of  ^Welcome'  on  the  door? 
[Tears.]  In  the  name  of  the  dear  old  col- 
lege days,  Madeline  Stone,  Ruth  Haggert. ' ' 
[Sob.]    The  room  isn't  lonely  now! 

[Goes  to  hang:  sign  on  door  as  curtain 
falls.] 

CURTAIN. 


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